The Language of Flowers
by Moon Witch '96
Summary: AU. A Girl Who Lived story. The Wizarding World is sometimes archaic & backward, but above all, is deeply entrenched with Traditions. Each little thing has meaning & centuries of practice, which, Primrose Potter finds to be a bit silly. Some traditions, however, like the meanings of flowers, she has found to be rather beautiful. Please Read & Review.
1. A Quiet Street

**A Quiet Street**

Bouquet of Begonias & White Heathers:

 _Beware & Protection_

Rubeus Hagrid was proud that he was often sent by Albus Dumbledore himself on various tasks, had done so since he was just a lad and trotting after old Ogg. It had been simple things at first, he still remembered the first time he had asked him: He had been sitting nervously at the staff table for the first time, Ogg drinking his Irish coffee and eatin' his hash. Hagrid had been starin' at his hands, tryin' to ignore the fact that people were starin' at him. His cheeks had been ruddy and red, and he had tried to be as small as possible. A hard task when y're taller than most at the table. The then Head of Gryffindor house had startled him and called out from the other end of the table:

"Rubeus, my dear boy can you pass me the gooseberry jam?"

Dark red and stumblin', he had taken the small crystal jar up to the Headmaster, hands tremblin' as he had passed it into delicate, veined hands. Things had only gotten grander and better since then. He tried not to build himself so much, boast 'bout the fact that such a great man trusted him. Now, as he was handed a hastily made portkey, his stomach turned and he blinked rapidly at the appearance of his dear Headmaster. The pounding on the door had woken him up, made the newborn Cerberus pup he had won off some greek chap snarl and bark: two heads standing at attention while the other whined at him, fur standing on end at being woken up so early in the morning.

He had gotten up, and opened the door to see Albus, all mussed up and wild, still in his night clothes. Now, the man was pale, blinkin' rapidly as he pushed his way in and threw Hagrid's coat at him, on his head, and his boots knocked against his shins as he tossed 'em at 'im as well. Hagrid himself dragged it on, stuffed the portkey into the front most pocket and was already reaching from his boots.

"One minute Hagrid and this portkey will take you to Godric's Hollow. Bring Primrose to this address." said Professor Dumbledore, and even in these troubled times, he had never heard him sound so urgent, so hoarse. Dumbledore gave him a slip of parchment, his hands tremblin'.

"But Headmaster why- "

"The Potters are dead, and Voldemort is gone." Hagrid as always, Dumbledore ignored the flinch of anyone around him when he spoke that dreadful name, " Rubeus, we have to get the girl out before anyone else arrives."

"Lil' and Ja-"

"Hargid", please, get in and out, there's no time to explain. The Fidelius Charm was broken. All of my spells were broken." he cried, and he looked up at Hagrid, blues eyes piercing,

"They're gone."

Hagrid blinked, shook his head, _Ther's no bleedin' way tha' Lily and James-_ And with that a sharp tug at his navel made the Headmaster fade away in spinning mess of colors.

Hagrid landed in an empty, dark street.

Hagrid had never had been very graceful when it came to Magical transport, he liked the local trains well enough, and of course the Night Bus was always good for a laugh. But 'ports and Floo always made him sick to his stomach, turned him 'round. So his landing was not good, he fell on his backside and cursed up a storm. When he had finished, both the dark and the alarming quiet of the street in the early morning crept up on him. His spinnin' head settled, and he looked up.

In front of him, was the Potter house.

Or really what was left of it, which was not much at all. He felt his eyes fill as he stood, large hands trembling and knees knockin' together. He stumbled forward, blinking and breath harsh. He had not been 'round to the Potter's much, just for lil' Primrose christening and for tea now and again since Lily had moved in. That had stopped once they had gone into hiding, but he knew his way 'round it, and he took out his pink umbrella, teeth clenched and ready for anything that awaited him inside. He walked room to room, checking each and everyone on the ground floor before he started to make his way upstairs.

He found James first.

Still, face down, near the foot of the stairs. Arms sprawled and glasses knocked far away. _James 's blin' as a bat with'ot his glasses._ Carefully, knowing that he had little time, Hagrid rightened James, sobbing. Turned him 'round and closed glassy eyes. He stood and went further, room to room. He found the cat next, a small lil' thing that had been Lily's since her Hogwarts days, spooked and meowing at the sight of him. Hagrid scooped the thing up, stuffed it into an inside pocket to keep the tiny thing warm. It curled and whined into him as he went to the second floor, ever mindful of the creaking and chared steps as he went up.

Room from room, charred and broken was what met 'im on the second floor. It was in the nursery that he found both Lily and Prim. Lily was slumped in front of the crib. Arms reaching. Green eyes so beautiful once still and grey. She had tears tracks running down her pale cheeks, and lil' Prim was tuggin' at her red hair, cryin'. Hagrid swallowed thickly before he stumbled forward. Prim looked up at his clumsy and thunderin' steps, she pointed to her mother:

"Ma. Ma!" in a wailing voice, tears running down her face from her great eyes.

"Shhh. 'S gonna be 'right." he said soothingly to the crying babe.

He moved Lily, closed her flat eyes and laid her down, settled sprawled arms 'cross her chest in a relaxed position. Carefully, he tugged at Prim, and brought her close, blanket's and all.

"Shhh. I got yer. Shhh. Pretty, lil' babe." he rocked, voice hoarse as he brought her close to his chest.

He didn't look back at Lily, least he burst into sobs and collapsed, and fled the house. Sirius Black was running up the drive by the time Hagrid reached the door, still rocking the babe.

"Hagrid!"

"Sirius!" exclaimed the giant, blinkin' as he rocked, "O' Sirius, Lily and James!"

Sirius looked wild and had his wand in hand. His face crumpled, paled and his chest began to rise an' fall quickly. His eyes filled as he looked down at the tiny bundle in Hargid's arms.

"Why do you have Primrose?"

" 'M s'ppose to take her to Dumbledore." he said, and he rocked and rocked the babe.

Sirius's brows furrowed, and his arms reached out to Hagrid.

"Give her here, Hagrid, I'm her godfather."

Hagrid brought her closer to his chest and rocked and rocked the crying babe.

" Can' do tha', Sirius. Dumbledore said-"

"Right. You're right. Take my bike Hagrid." he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Hagrid stared at the massive vehicle, blinking.

"It can fly. Get her out of her. Quickly, Hagrid. Take her quickly before I changed my mind." his voice was quiet, fierce and thick.

In one quick move, before Hagrid could even open his maw ter protest, Sirius moved forward, gave the small babe a kiss righ' on her forehead and turned rapidly on his heel, disappearing with a crack. Hagrid hurried to the massive bike, still rocking lil' Prim, and took off into the night sky, leavin' Godric's Hollow behind.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOO**

The idea that Primrose Dorea Potter, the only child of Lily and James Potter, could not and was not a normal girl was the only truly coherent thought in Albus Dumbledore's mind. It was an abnormal morning, even if one took into account the normal going ons of Samhain last night. Last night. Last night he had retired with a heavy heart, mind full of Tom Riddle's rise in these Dark times. His concern for the Potters had been a minimal, fleeting thoughts- for while there was not much that he trusted in this world, he trusted magic and he knew that the Fidelius Charm was powerful and true.

He supposed that his greatest and firmest weakness was that he trusted in the bond of men.

He himself had made that mistake once. And would continue to make that mistake if he were to have any sort of faith in his species. James and Lily had made the same mistake, apparently, in trusting their secret keeper, and for him not to insist upon being said keeper had cost them their lives. But he cannot say he does not regret his foolish pride and mistakes. Now, as he looked out at the quiet street that was untouched by the Wizarding War, he thought of the tragedy of two people whom had been in his Order, his soldiers against the darkness that he had mistakenly not stamped out in its infancy, he wondered at the cause of all of this. Tom's certainty of the prophecy. Two lives lost and another babe without its parents.

 _More parallels_ , thought Albus Dumbledore, _the same as a quiet, intense boy so long ago._

The man's very appearance on the seemingly normal street in itself was a mystery, as well as the thoughts of the infant he had in mind. From his long silvery beard and hair, long enough to tuck neatly into his belt, to his sparkling blue eyes behind their half-moon spectacles to the long and crooked nose they rested upon to the very robes and cloak he wore. All seemed to be signs that something strange was about to happen in Privet Drive.

And it had to do with the girl.

He shifted from foot to foot, eyes flickering about and paused at number 4 Privet Drive: looking at the shiny brass digit on the house and gazing serenely at the future home of the little Potter girl. Deep down in his heart, he knew that this would not be a good place for the child, despite what his mind told him would be for the best for the future for the Wizarding World. If he was correct, things with Tom Riddle were not done, nor were the people that followed him 'dead' as he, and he had many things to ponder and prepare for however long the peace that the apparent death of Lord Voldemort had brought.

He knew perfectly well, even after listening to the stern Professor McGonagall's protests that the Dursley family would not take a shine to having the girl in their household or her criticism about the spoiled family itself. But, even if she didn't know, Professor Dumbledore had no other choice. Petunia Dursley nee Evans, Primrose's aunt, was her only living relative and by default, the only one who could activate a proper blood ward for the girl.

In short, Petunia, a mere Muggle, was the only person in the world who could properly protect the child from Tom's followers until she turned seventeen and the protection of Lily failed forever. The irony was not lost on him, but at the moment he had no real heart to laugh it.

After giving a glance at his pocket watch, a curious little contraption that had twelve hands circling around it and tiny planets instead of numbers on it he sighed, blinking and clicking it quickly shut. It would have confounded any other Muggle who would have looked at it but Dumbledore had known nothing but that all his life, and he commented quietly:

"Hagrid's late," to the irate professor beside him, before he turned to gaze about the dark street. It was partly to make some sort of conversation in the quiet street and partly to distract him from his own mind.

Professor McGonagall gave him a stern look which he caught out of the corner of his eyes, one that had she had given to anyone else would have conveyed only the sheerest of disapproval. As it was, Dumbledore could only take it as annoyance, and restrain a light chuckle at her withering glance. As much as he respected her, part of him saw the student that he had taught. She had never lost that glare, even into adulthood, though it certainly was much more potent than a first year who had bluntly told him that of course she could turn a match into a needle.

"You think it... wise... to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" She asked, twisting her emerald robes irritably, no doubt a side-effect of having to sit on a brick wall all day, observing the Dursleys.

"I would trust him with my life." responded Dumbledore calmly, his light eyes piercing into the woman before him, and she was not so dense not to see the gentle reprim in that stare. McGonagall shifted a little in discomfort.

She loathed being stared at that way, especially by Dumbledore ... If she had to be perfectly honest, she would say exclusively by him. It had not changed since she had been his student, and honestly in her older life it seemed to cause more and more embarrassment and shame. The fact that it reminded her that her superior had taught her when she was in the Hogwarts robes as a child did not endear her to it, she was forty-six for Merlin's sake.

"I admit his heart is in the right place...But he does tends to be careless..." The Professor admits softly, trying to keep at least a bit of defense in her voice as she spoke to the older Headmaster.

Although she knew it was wrong to have a prejudice against the gentle but wild looking gamekeeper, she couldn't help but feel that maybe Dumbledore should have picked a more careful and wiser person to bring the child, perhaps even herself. She knew Primrose would have no fiercer defender, but her own worry for the child of her former students and the stress of their deaths ate at her. Hagrid was wonderful but he was reckless and to be frank she had been on the receiving end of more than one of his embraces. The gentle brute didn't know his own strength.

They both stood in silence after a beat, McGonagall pondering what Dumbledore had confirmed only a few minutes earlier, feeling the prickle of tears in her eyes at the loss of the Potters. Even with her shock at their deaths, she couldn't help but feel a small sense of wonder and confusion.

A small one-year-old girl had defeated the greatest dark lord of the century?

If anyone else had told her, she wouldn't have even begun to understand their madness, and sent them straight to Saint Mungo's. But it had been Dumbledore, who in truth was more than a little mad, to tell her. In anyone else, she would have believed it to be a sick joke. But he wasn't one to lie in a situation this serious, especially since it concerned three people he deeply cared about: the Potters. Two of the most brilliant and talented, and simply all-around good people she had the pleasure to know and to teach. They were gone now and their little girl had been able to do one thing to avenge them: destroy their murderer and avenge the murder of dozen, if not hundreds of people by an accident of faith or something else she could not understand. This bitter-sweet knowledge was almost worth their death.

Almost.

Professor Minerva McGonagall looked up in unison with Dumbledore as a large roar filled the air, eyes on the cloudy sky to see a giant of a black motorcycle clatter to the ground, skidding to a stop right before them. However, if the motorcycle was big, it had virtually nothing on the man that was riding it. Towering over even the abnormally tall Professor Dumbledore, he seemed to be several times as wide as the skinny professor:

His hair was a mass of wild, long tangles of bushy black hair that also covered his face in an equally as messy beard. His black eyes looked almost too small for his face but they alone showed his true nature, expressing the kindness and warmth that the giant man had to offer. In his large and muscular arms he held a tiny bundle that slightly smaller than a loaf of bread but he held it with a very strange gentleness, one that if judging by his almost feral appearance, would have seemed unnatural. He stepped off the bike carefully, holding the bundle in his arms gently. He glanced up at the professors with a bright smile, strained but there nonetheless, and nodded respectfully.

"Good evenin', Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, I've brough' lil Prim," he greeted in a rough but powerfully deep voice, his gentle expression completely at odds with it. He motions to the bundle in his arms.

"Ah! Hagrid, welcome, wherever did you get that machine?" questioned Professor Dumbledore, looking at the behemoth of a bike with what seemed like admiration and more than a bit of amusement.

"Young Sirius Black lent it to me, sir," responded the giant, smiling brightly underneath his tangled beard the implications of his words go over all their heads, confusion and urgency causing them to gloss over it completely.

He pats the handlebars of said bike with his free hand fondly though he kept a good grip on the blankets tucked into the crook of his arm.

"Of course. Only Black would enchant that metal death trap to fly!" huffed McGonagall scornfully, eyeing the machine with barely disguised disapproval. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she gives the machine a sniff, shaking her head in disgust.

"Please, Professor it broug' me here didn' it?" commented Hagrid truthfully, giving the bike one last pat and moves next to them in an enormous, single step.

She sniffed once more in dislike, then turned her bespectacled eyes toward the bundle of blankets in Hagrid's hands.

"Is that her?" her voice was softer and gentler as she looked at the suddenly pooled in her green eyes and she forcefully coughed and blinked her eyes, composing herself, to peer at the bundle with a much calmer curiosity.

"Quiet little thing, isn't she? Fell asleep as we' re flying over Bristol." commented Hagrid, holding the bundle gently in his oversized arms, as if he was worried about dropping the blankets onto the law.

All of the adults peaked at the small bundle that was Primrose Dorea Potter. She _was_ a tiny little thing, small and delicate like her mother. But, not surprisingly, she had some of her father, which was was obvious as they looked at the wild looking tuft of black poking out of the very top of the blanket They had not seen her for the better part of a few months, and the girl had grown quickly from the infant they had know. Her eyes were closed and they wondered if her infant blue eyes had changed to look like her mother's or father's, her breath was going out in small, little puffs.

However, there was one feature of the little girl that she had not earned from her parents: a small cut over her left eyebrow, shaped like a bolt of was a vivid red, slightly swollen. It was a contrast to the delicately pale skin of the child. Stark and eye-catching.

"Is that where?" asked Professor McGonagall curiously. Her fingers reached for the little girl's head, as if to touch it, but instead they hovered over her bundle, not quite daring to.

"Yes. She will have that scar forever." responded Dumbledore calmly, giving the little girl a serene smile that did not match the set of his furrowed brow. From his sad expression, there was a strange reluctance to look at the little girl, almost as if it pained him to see her.

"You can't...?" McGonagall questioned softly, flickering fingers over the infant in emphasis, as if to magically remove the scar from the child's forehead.

"No. Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can be ever so useful; after all, I have one above my right knee that is in the shape of the London underground." He said with slight humour, smiling a bit at this.

Both Hagrid and McGonagall looked down at his legs, as if to try to see the mentioned scar beneath his robe, then shook their heads. Hagrid bent down and gave Primrose kiss on the forehead, then handed her into Dumbledore's waiting arms and gave out a sound like a wounded dog, his face wrinkled in pain.

"SHH! You'll wake the Muggles!" said McGonagall in alarm, giving the giant a strict look. She motions up the street as if to prove it.

"I'm 'orry...It just lil' Prim off to live with Muggles." said Hagrid in a slightly quieter voice, his gruff tone made even gruffer with suppressed tears.

McGonagall awkwardly patted his elbow, the highest part of him she could even reach. Dumbledore walked up to the front porch of the house, holding the little baby in his arm carefully. With the other two watching him in silence, he gently laid down the bundle to the porch, tucking a thick letter inside her blankets. The three adults stared at their saviour, the saviour of the magical world: a mere slip of a baby girl, who looked as if too deep of a breath could break her. A single tear slipped out of McGonagall's eyes, Hagrid's enormous form quivered as if he was about to run over to the bundle and run off with it, and Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to have lost their famous twinkle.

"Well, best be off." whispered Dumbledore to the others, his eyes not leaving the bundle on the porch. He, too, looked as if he was restraining himself from picking up the sleeping infant and running off with it.

"I better return the bike..." mumbled Hagrid mournfully, nodding towards said machine and straddling it, flying into the air with a loud growl of the engine. He did not look back, though he continued to tremble.

"Must be going as well... Lots to do now." whispered McGonagall softly. She looked towards Dumbledore for a moment and reached out to him before changing her mind, instead disappearing with a wave of her emerald robe.

Dumbledore lingered still. Both his mind and heart argued about what to do. One, almost paternal part of him suggested that he pick up the girl and raise her himself, out of sheer respect for his former students and friends. The other part, soft and solemn, desperately wished to reverse this night. It wished for James and Lily to suddenly appear to take back their child, leaving him to never make such a choice again. He knew that neither was possible. He flicked his wand, sending warming, cushioning and notice me not spells as well as a water repellant spell over her. Ones that should last until morning.

With a heavy heart and an equally as tired mind, he flicked the putter-outer briskly, returning the lights he had put out. He gave one last look at the porch with the baby sleeping peacefully in it, feeling a twinge of paternal longing, the first part of him telling him to take her and raise her. He remembers James and Lily, knowing exactly what they would do in this situation. Instead of listening to this part, however, he disappeared with a flash of his robes. But not without a whispered:

"Good luck, Primrose."

Primrose Potter did not stir. Her small hand simply reached out to clutch the letter in her tiny fingers in reflex. She slept on peacefully, not knowing she was special. Not knowing what she had lost just a few hours before. She slept on without knowing that her life would take a turn for the worst when her aunt Petunia opened the door and screamed bloody murder when she went to grab the milk bottles that morning. She didn't know that she would be poked and prodded by her wailing cousin for the next several weeks. No, the little girl knew nothing of her future nor of the present, where all across the country wizards and witches were lifting their goblets and saying in hushed, solemn voices:

"To Primrose Potter; The Girl Who Lived!"


	2. The Girl Underneath The Stairs

**The Girl Underneath The Stairs**

Bouquet of Blue Bells & White Tendril Ivy

 _Humility & Anxious to Please, Affection_

Petunia Dursley woke on the first of November, 1981, with a faint feeling of nausea in her stomach as well as the beginning of a headache at her temples. She would put it on a little too much wine with her dinner, and the fact that Delilah had been especially fussy throughout the night. She was rambunctious, her Delilah. She was hungry constantly often threw her toys out of her crib, and then cry until she had them back. She sighed, coming to rub her temples absently. She turned to the small clock that had blared just seconds before. Now, as she got up, pecking her husband absently on his slightly rough cheek, she ignored both feelings with the ease of someone long used to them. She rose and quickly checked on her daughter to see that yes, she was fast asleep before she rushed to the loo.

She was midway through doing her makeup, that Petunia's nausea seemed to lessen, and she was much better for it. The slight throbbing of her temples seemed to be a bit better too, and she was so glad she had snuck the dimmer light fixture when she and Vernon had been redoing their bathroom last year. She was even humming as she picked up Delilah, rocking her near two-year-old for a beat before she settled her easily on her hip. The little darling snuggled into her long neck, huffing little snorts tickling her skin as she went to her husband's side.

"Vernon dear, time to get up." soothed Petunia, nudging her husband. He grunted, a sort of mixture of a snort of his snores and a little start, "Now, Vernon."

He husband gave her a glance, nodded rapidly and started to rise with few choice words that Petunia would hope her husband would not say around their daughter when she was older and grumbles. Satisfied, Petunia hummed her way downstairs, bouncing Delilah carefully on her hip(the poor dear was growing up so fast, she soon would be too heavy for her to carry). Settling Delilah into a small playpen in her spotless kitchen, and tightening her robe, she went to the front porch to get her fresh milk, merrily humming as she cheerfully clicked her two empty bottles together.

It was when she bent over to place the bottles down, that she saw her.

And promptly screamed bloody murder at the sight of a child sleeping in a bundle of blankets on her porch. The little girl unwound herself from the blankets with a startled little yelp at the loud noise. Her hair, a riot of long black locks that had probably never been cut since birth, was sticking in all directions as she turned to Petunia, who had fallen backward and onto her bum. She was gasping out her husband's name in a screech and promptly stopped when the girl's eyes locked onto her's.

Petunia was not an idiot, despite her lack of employment( _she was going to be a stay at home mum, she didn't like how much Lily had criticized her for that_ ) or her rather lackluster grade point average during Uni _(at least she had gone to Uni_ ).

And she would be very much a fool not to see that the eyes looking back at her from that pale face, was her sister's eyes. Almond shape(just the shape of Petunia's own blue eyes) and large, almost too large for her face, a stunning, _enchanting, their father had once said with a cheeky wink_ , emerald green. Petunia blinked, the little girl, Primrose, blinked. Of course Petunia remembered the name of her niece. Lily had gushed via letter as soon as she had realized she was pregnant. Writing nearly two parchments full of possible names for either a boy or girl and begging for 'Tuney' to give her response to the owl as soon as she could.

Not that Petunia had responded to the letter, nor any of the subsequent letters. She had in fact torn the letter from the owl and then shooed away the creature with her trusty broom.

Later, Petunia Dursley would reflect that if she had known, if Lily had not downplayed whatever mess her _kind_ was in, she would have tried to keep in contact with her estranged, younger sister. Especially once the letters had stopped. She had only thought that the ever bright, ever optimistic golden girl had finally given up( _she couldn't deny the bitterness at that, because a part of her always hoped her sister would always at least try, for_ _ **her**_ ), just as she had given on that Snape boy. Never mind the letter that had stated explicit importance for Petunia to claim she did not have a sister, let alone one called Lily Potter. She had done so gladly, it was bad enough her sister was the favorite of the family, she didn't need to go around stating her relation to the 'beautiful, intelligent Lily Potter'.

Now, all Petunia could do was huff, irritated and overall furious at this little prank. Her brother-in-law was rather fond of them. The last family dinner they had attended with her parents, the big prat had charmed Vernon into silence about drills ' _bit of a laugh, Luv_ '. She scowled at the infant and snatched the envelope from the tangle of blankets.

"Typical of those folk, leaving a baby out in the cold. What irresponsible-" muttered Petunia, and stopped her muttered rant at the sight of the handwriting on the letter.

She had only ever had one other letter from its writer, and as kind, s the letter had been it had been hard to ignore the blatant rejection. She blinked at the heaviness of the letter and stared at the child. Primrose only blinked at her hand coming to suck on her thumb. On reflex on having just broken Delilah of the same habit, she slapped her hand away gently. The little girl blinked, frowning at the smack and shaking her head, making her black hair bounce comically. It was almost endearing really...

 _Mrs. Petunia Dursley,_

 _It is with great sorrow to inform you that your sister, Ms. Lily Potter, and her husband. James Potter have died at the hands of a Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort last night on October thirty-first. Primrose-_

Petunia stared at the letter. She didn't realize she was sobbing until Vernon came thundering down the stairs, adjusting his plain tie:

"What in blazes is happening Petunia?!"

Petunia just thrust the letter into her husband's hands, dropping her head into her own hands.

"My- My God. They can't even explain in person?" fumed her husband after a minute, and his voice is raised, straggled, "And they just left the girl there? On the porch?! They could have just woken us up! The audacity! These people don't think like sensible people! Those bleedin' bastards!"

Petunia only cried, hardly even reacting when Vernon came to wrap his arms around her. It wasn't until a moment that she leaned heavily into him, burying her face into his thick, short neck. They stayed that way in a long, thick silence. The only sounds that broke it was the faint sound of their daughter smashing her plastic toys against her crib, and the soft gurgles of the baby they ignored in front of them, the young woman's sobs turning softer and softer as more time passed.

"What are we to do?"

Petunia looked at her husband, pushing away at the sudden, hesitant question. Blue, almond shaped eyes met his dark ones, and she blinked. The sound of a gurgling infant made them turn their attention to the infant on their porch. The baby simply blinked at them, and cooed again, a string of gurgling child talk that included the phrase 'Ma, Pa' repeatedly. Her voice was high and slurred by a young tongue.

"What we have to. You saw the letter. Lily and that blasted husband got themselves mixed up in a war, and it isn't over despite what happened last night." responded Petunia sharply, her voice a deadly whisper.

Her husband was the breadwinner in the home. And while that meant little to many people nowadays, with what more and more woman in the workforce and all that tripe, Vernon was a traditional sort of man. He might not go off to church as often as his good Ma' and Pa' had taught him, but he considered himself a fair mind. And if anything adores his wife decision to follow the path of a woman at home, but it had been her decision, after all. From the very beginning, Vernon had often followed his wife bidding. She was a sharp woman, his Petunia, and because of her… Unusual sister, she was very sure of her own path in life as the normal Evans sister. But that did not mean he did not put his foot down on occasion against his dear wife.

The thought of his baby Delilah, following her mother's footsteps of living with- with one of _those_ did not sit well with him.

"Petunia I can't have one in the house."

Fierce blue eyes glared at him.

"We won't. It got my sister _blown up_. I'd be damned if her daughter followed those footsteps." she snapped.

Vernon Dursley could only nod, and lament that his strange day yesterday had only hinted at the mess he was in now.

"We'll bring her inside. Honestly, the nerve of those people."

Petunia nodded.

"Hopefully none of the neighbors saw a thing." she murmured.

Then, in a mixture of a gingerly and careful move, she scooped up her niece. Her previous headache returned with a viciousness, and her stomach turned.

Only she could no longer blame it on the wine.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _31st, October 1982_

Petunia leaned back into the couch, exhausted. It was today she reflected, taking a large swig of her favorite wine bottle, not even bothering with a glass. Vernon was upstairs, with Delilah and the girl, and had given her a single glance that Sunday morning and had told her that she needn't bother with the two toddlers. She smirked, taking another swig of the bottle.

"Well, Lily," she said aloud, her voice raspy, a fact that she tried very hard to ignore, "It's been a year. Your Primrose is two years old now."

Nothing answered her. She didn't expect it too. Even magic couldn't bring help her talk to her dead sister, a fact that she relished. She was bound normally by scientific laws. Death couldn't be defined, which, Petunia thought, was a clear proof that magic wasn't any better than being nice and normal.

"Primrose is a terrible name. Honestly, 'First rose', you never got the second one, did you?" she spat, giggling slightly, it sent a spasm of tightness in her chest, "Delilah was nice and normal. It's a beautiful, proper name. Even mother and father would've approved."

The silence was nice, thought Petunia, and she drank more wine.

"I should've chased off that wretched Snape boy the second I had a chance. Nosey berk, made us fight, caused you to get caught up in a blasted war. And now? I have your daughter, and you're dead."

Petunia drank more wine, noting that the bottle was nearly empty.

"Damn it Lils, you should've been normal, you should have married someone else, you should've snapped your blasted wand the second you finished school."

Again, nothing answered her.

 **OOOOOOOOO**

 _20, December 1983_

Vernon Dursley, more than anything, wanted the girl to stop staring. It was a wretched habit that the three-year-old had adopted, unlike his daughter, Delilah, his niece Primrose Potter stared at him directly for hours if she could get away with it. She was a quiet thing, didn't run or fuss. He didn't understand the child. Delilah tended to focus on food or a toy in front of her, ran about like the energetic tyke that she was. Emerald eyes, so much like his late sister-in-law, would snap towards the slightest sound, and find anyone in an instance. She would clumsily lift herself up on wobbling legs and clutch at the rim of the playpen she shared with his daughter, a small area cut off from the rest of their spotless parlor so as to give the two babies their room. Primrose just stared at everyone and smiled. Delilah hardly ever addressed them, she was often busy with other things, as growing children should, but Primrose was always conscious of people:

"Uncle Ver, Uncle Ver!" she cheered at the sight of him. She lifted chubby arms her intent clear for him to pick her up.

Vernon did no such thing, arms dodging around the child's reaching arms and pulled his daughter away. She was a wiggly thing, his Delilah, yowling the second she was taken away from her toys and sweets. Emerald eyes watched him, filling with tears, blinking at the blatant disregard.

Vernon paid them no mind, cooing at his wiggling three-year-old trying to play, bouncing her around, his back turned to his niece.

It wasn't until a toy smacked him in the back of his head that he rounded back on his niece. And froze. She had not thrown the toy, as he had initially thought, but rather made the plastic block rush up, suspended in the air. One more was there, no doubt to smack him again. The block dropped soon after, and the three-year-old was on her wobbly and thin legs, and she said again:

"Uncle Ver'!" wiggling her arms at him.

Cold fury is a bad combination with stark fear, Vernon Dursley found out that day, at the first blatant display of magic by his niece. Before, they could ignore it. Push it off as something else… But not this time.

"NO!" he bellowed, startling both niece and daughter alike.

He didn't _care_.

"NO!" he repeated, stalking closer to his niece after he had set Delilah on the coach, he loomed over her, "NEVER AGAIN! DO YOU HEAR ME PRIMROSE."

When the three-year-old started to cry, he took it that his scolding had taken effect. He did not, however, allow his daughter back into the pin. Not until he panicked and put his niece in the cupboard underneath the stairs. He did this each time something abnormal happened around her.

"Serves you right, doing an unnatural thing like that." he muttered, rocking his daughter back and forth.

He ignored the cries from the cupboard until his wife came home from the Grocers. She did stare at the door for a moment, and then she turned to him:

"We could fit a small bed in there. I heard that Mr. Perk from next door is getting rid of a twin now that his daughter is going off to Uni."

Vernon nodded.

 **OOOOOOOOO**

 _31, July 1984_

Four-year-old- Primrose Potter curled her hand carefully in the dark of her cupboard, small digits coaxing a single spider towards her. She smiled at the sight of the spider carefully crawling into her hand and cooed at the small creature before she let it go. It crawled away slowly before it bounded out of sight. Primrose stared after it, delighting in the fact that she had made a new friend again, marking this as the fifth spider that had allowed her to handle it. She liked the spiders in her cupboard. They ate all the other nasty things that crawled about and stayed clear of her unless she extended her hand out.

"PRIMROSE!" cried the sharp voice of her aunt, accompanied by the sharp rap of her knuckles of the door to her small room.

Primrose jumped, and answered:

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?" her voice was high and sweet, though very subdued. Her words were very carefully pronounced, slow and sounded out as not to stumble her words together childishly.

Aunt Petunia didn't like it when Primrose did it, and Primrose tried her best not to upset her Aunt Petunia.

"Come to the kitchen. I want you to help me with breakfast."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." she replied dutifully, watching her Aunt's shadow against the door move away.

"Good, not get moving girl."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

Primrose tries to dress quickly, carefully keeping mind of her hair, plaiting it back as well as she could with clumsy hands.

" _Hurry_ girl, I can't wait all day for a lazy brat!" at her Aunt's voice is very sharp.

Hurt, lips trembling, but determined not to upset her aunt, Primrose repeats in a thick voice:

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _29, September 1985_

Delilah does not like her cousin, 'Perfect' Primrose Potter. She has never really liked her, and now that they have started Primary, Delilah likes her less. They may have just started school, but the teachers already liked her more than they did Delilah. Delilah does not like this and wishes to point out what her Mummy and Daddy have said about Primrose, she is a freak and a freeloader(whatever those things mean, they sound _bad_ , and Mummy and Daddy say it, so it must be true). She does not like that Primrose is getting attention from the teachers, nor the fact that she is smiling happily in a way that she doesn't do at home. Other children are gathering 'round the smart, pretty girl.

Her Mummy and Daddy might not say so, but Primrose was pretty: She had long black hair, a bit messy but it was such a startling shade of black, a contrast to her pale, pale skin, and her emerald green eyes. She was a tiny thing, hardly reached Delilah's shoulder even if they were only a few months apart. Delilah hated it, made strangers coo at her, made her huff because she was far prettier, her Mummy and Daddy said so, and they didn't coo at _her_. Once, a man had even bowed to her at a shop, giggling as he did so. Delilah had not been pleased: She was a Princess, Daddy called her so, where were _her_ bows?

And now, it was no different, people were all around Primrose, smiling, talking to the girl that had answered questions well in their history class.

So Delilah does what her Daddy told her to do when Primrose was doing something wrong and _punishes_ her.

Some time later, during maths, she cannot keep the smile off her face as the rest of the class starts to whisper, as they stare in surprise and unease at the fact that their teacher's hair has suddenly turned a bright, bright blue. Carefully, so as no one will see it, Delilah hides the paints she had used to draw on the teacher's desk during recess(a gift from her Aunty Marge): She had snuck back into the classroom after getting a pass to the loo, and had placed the brush she had used underneath Primrose's jacket, making sure to leave a bit poking out so their Maths teacher could see it.

The fact that Primrose has a habit of going off unseen for recess was perfect for Delilah, and as everyone shifts away from her cousin, Delilah is delighted and glad that her 'perfect' Primrose cousin has gotten as her Daddy says: 'What for'.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _15, April 1986_

Marge has long learned that her sister-in-law, as well as her beloved brother, are, undoubtedly, saints. It's a matter of sheer Christian devotion, she is sure, that the couple had kept the daughter of what her brother has said to be 't _he worst couple of drunk, misfits that I've had the displeasure to meet_ '. She had never met the Potters herself, but if their daughter is anything to go by, that little crash was the best thing they could've done for the little brat. She is unfailingly polite, Vernon and Petunia no doubt are determined to keep her in line, but Marge can sense the bad seed excluding from the girl.

"Would you like any sugar for your tea, Miss Dursley?" the six-year-old speaks very softly, hands carefully handling the small tray of sugar, cream pitcher, and biscuits that Petunia has so gracefully arranged for her. Her eyes are staring directly into Marge's, a little gleam is so minuscule, had it not been for Marge's many years training dogs, she would have missed it.

She grunts at the girl, wagging a thick finger at her after she gives her a light smack across the face, barely enough to get a red mark on the girl's pale skin. Unfailing, like the good little cretin that she is, she doesn't even drop the tray in the force of the smack.

 _Petunia and Vernon have trained her well. If Petunia wasn't so squeamish about a little fur, I would have them help out with my dogs._

"What have I said, girl, call me Aunt Marge. Honestly, that's where you can see the bad seed in her, those small acts of rebellion. Can't blame you Petunia, dear. Can't help bad stock, no matter how well you train something."

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _4, June 1987_

Primrose Potter was soon to turn seven, and she was not quite excited about it. Last year, her Aunt, Uncle, and cousin had promptly forgotten until the last minute and had gotten her a stack of the most worn, most threadbare of Delilah's dresses. Prim had long learned that the needle was her best friend to keeping dresses from slipping off her much thinner, and shorter body. Her Aunt Petunia didn't use her hand needles anyway, and said not a word to Prim's use of them( _Prim never thanked her Aunt for the replacement needles nor the thread that appeared once and awhile within the basket that now lived in her cupboard, when she had tried she had gotten an odd look on her face, and simply snapped at Primrose to be quiet_ ). She had, however, explicitly forbidden her use of the electric machine kept in the garage. Prim herself kept clear of it, she and electronics just did not mesh. They acted funny, and once she had broken her fifth electric kettle she banned from most electronics in the house.

She was currently mending up another batch of the most recent of dresses and jumpers that Delilah had either outgrown or grown tired of. Prim had started this now that her chores were over, and was glad that her Aunt and Uncle had opted for a decent light fixture within the cupboard, carefully separating the seams of a red dress that Delilah had hardly worn, but had managed to rip a great big hole near the edge of the skirt and refused to wear it ever again. She could not remake her own clothes much as she tried, but rather repair and copy the patterns of the old to cut them closer to her size.

She had gotten rather good at tiny, intricate stitch work, and used the scraps of cloth from the clothes to make an all manner of things when she was able: her small room was covered in quilts and a mishmash of oddly colored pillows, and little-stuffed animals (she loved deer the most, and had this large one that had taken her half a year to finish). She even sold some of her stuffed animals to Ms. Fig who lived down the lane, a mad old woman with too many cats and owner of a small curio shop nearby, she sometimes took care of Primrose when the Dursleys went out. She always got decent pocket money that way and had been pleased to see one of her larger cat toys end up in Ms. Fig's china cabinet.

"What are you doing?"

Primrose jumped at her cousin's voice, it wasn't often that she visited her in her cupboard, after all.

"I'm making the dress fit me." she said softly, trying to ignore her cousin.

Delilah was a bit hard to ignore. She was a large girl, nearly two heads taller than her now, and was very very chubby. Delilah liked her sweets, and Prim didn't fault her for it, whenever she got bits of what Delilah couldn't finish, she always wished she had more. Not only that, it was Aunt Petunia that insisted that she eat third helpings at every meal ' _You're a growing girl, my little flower!_ ', Primrose wondered at the difference between her and her cousin, she had small, bright blue eyes ' _the color of the sky, Princess!_ ', and very bright blonde hair, just as her mother. Primrose hated her hair, it never fell in a straight sheet-like Delilah's, and was dull and dark. She did like her eyes, but they were far too large for her face. She thought she looked like an owl.

"That's silly." said her cousin, firmly, and she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, "Tearing up things. You're… You're ungrateful!"

Primrose furrowed her brows at the word 'ungrateful' Aunt Petunia called her that often. She looked down at the dress, fists clenching. She didn't like that word. She tried to ignore the rising anger, the heart pounding. It wasn't good to get angry, they would punish her if something odd happened. She tried to squash it down, focus on the stitches and not her cousin.

Delilah sneered, and pushed her, making the seam ripper slip and stab her. Blood welled up.

"You're so skinny and ugly. Have to make up my scraps."

Something snapped.

"Mummy! Mummy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Primrose closed her eyes, flinching as she collapsed. She felt exhausted, sagging over the dress.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"

Primrose weakly looked over at the scream of her Aunt and Uncle. Delilah's dress, a pretty cream one, was in tatters, just strings and strips of ribbons. She shrank into the cupboard in fear:

"I d-d-didn't mean too," And Primrose hadn't, she had just been so _angry,_ so frustrated that Delilah was trying to make fun of one of the few things she did that was all her own. She hadn't done anything, nothing other than vividly imagine her cousin going through what Prim felt, the fact that she owned no clothes that hadn't belonged to someone else, that were torn and thrown at her as if she was a bin.

It didn't matter.

It never did.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _28, May 1988_

Arabella Figg wasn't quite sure how to feel about her charge. On the one hand, she was supposed to keep a good distance from her, keep her own emotions apart from the girl. She was here to protect her, and as a squib, she had no physical means of doing so, only her spying and a good means of escape through her floo network connected house in case of absolute emergency. Connecting with the girl would endanger her, if she spent too much time with her, without being forewarned, something in her house might expose her to the magical world before she was ready. Dumbledore had explicitly told her, seven years ago, when Lily and James had passed that he had a new mission for her.

She was no longer to make sure (upon Lily's request) that no wizarding presence made itself known made itself known near Lily's. Now she was supposed to get closer to her neighbors and inform Dumbledore of the girl's progress atop of her keeping a firm eye of the wizarding presence. The Aurors assigned to the area in the first few years had been discreet and never interfered, and had made sure to keep zealous and thankful people away from her. Now, it was hard to be strict with the girl. But she had to be firm, and nasty whenever one of the Dursleys were around. It was the only way to keep seeing the girl regularly.

Outside of that she could be kinder, softer and allow her to play with her half-kneazle cats, they liked the girl, to hop onto her lap and purr in contentment. It was a good thing, as they were her eyes and ears when she wasn't in her house. Her cats were experts at dodging her footsteps and keeping an eye on her. Beyond that, the poor dear insisted about helping her with what she could about her house, cleaning litter boxes and even on occasion fixing up so sort of food, helped her clean her entirely of her muggle shop. She was a quiet, eager to pleased child, very intent on being pleasant and polite. It was difficult to act ill towards the girl.

She had not expected the fact that despite the influence of her extended family, that the girl was so remarkably like her mother. Oh, she was quieter than the vivacious Lily, and not as confident. Physically she was like a smaller copy. But it was more than that. There was a gentleness that Lily had held that extended to her, and oh how she could sulk! It was like seeing Lily after a tiff with James. She got just as morose and dejected as her mother. It was entirely bizarre and she felt just so… _Sorry_ that Lily and James would never see their daughter grow up.

"Ms. Figg, is there anything else I can do for you?"

Arabella looked to the girl, writing down the last of her profits at her shop. She was smiling, and she was holding out a sandwich readily prepared. Just how she liked it, of course, the girl had long learned her taste. Arabella pursed her lips, took the sandwich.

"No, Primrose, nothing that I can think of."

The sinking of her face told her much- The girl did not want to return to the Dursleys so soon. Arabella did not blame her, She had come over today to escape her family in the first place, and seeing as that the spring break was nearly done, it would be a whole yet before the girl could leave the house again.

"But," she said quickly, hating to see her fallen face, "Would you mind terribly watching some Telly with me? I do believe that there is a new documentary that we could enjoy together. Go get your sewing so that you can do some more dolls for the shop."

Primrose beamed, striking Arabella in her heart. She was so eager to please… Arabella wondered at the fact that it would be so much time until the girl could be away from her horrid relatives and take her rightful place among her kind.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _31, October 1989_

Petunia never had the heart to tell her niece what today was. She should have, when she was young, should have said point blank that today was the day her parents had died. But then again, Petunia should have told her niece a lot of things. And Petunia had long come to the conclusion that she was a normal, lucky one of the former Evans sister and the fact that she was alive, and Lily was not, was all she needed to know to see that she was not wrong in her assessment that magic was dangerous and vile. She did not care for her niece, not when she had her Delilah, not when she was so beautifully normal and Primrose was so wretchedly not normal.

"Aunt Petunia?" her voice was soft, and of course her emerald eyes were pleading. Petunia narrowed her eyes and stood stiffly up.

"What do you want, girl?"

The girl did not react, did not even flinch at her harsh voice. She had long grown used to it at this point, after all. She lifted a small tray up.

"I made you some tea. You've seemed upset today, and I know how much you like this blend..."

 _Perfect Primrose. Just like her mother. Always helpful and sweet to the point of causing a toothache._

"Leave it on the bed-side table, and get out of my sight," she hissed, heart aching at the unblinking emerald eyes, _Lily's eyes,_ "And fix your hair, you look like you've been through a tornado."

Emerald eyes, _oh, why did her eyes have to be emerald_ , blinked.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

She carefully set the tray down, poured her tea and made it just as she liked it, a spot of lemon and sugar before she left the dark, quiet room. Petunia stared after her. After a moment, she went to the restroom and poured the tea down the sink.

 **OOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

 _1, August 1990_

Primrose was sewing, sitting carefully in the corner of Ms. Figg's shop, mindful of the small space meant for her, all of her things spread out across the small table that had become more or less her's over the course of several summer breaks spent there. Ms. Figg was minding the till and seemed as preoccupied with her book as Prim's was in her fabric. The bell at the start of the shop went off. Prim paid it no mind and was intent on her sewing. She had advanced to embroidery and had a set budget for buying different colored thread, and when she felt especially fancy, small glass beads that cost a pretty penny. Her dolls were selling well, and Prim had felt a distinct amount of pride to see some of the younger girls at her Primary during school sessions carrying some of her dolls.

"My word, is that?" the voice was loud, and it caused Prim to jump, as well as look up.

The speaker was a woman, dressed strangely, long overcoat and ill-fitting pajama pants, along with wellies, despite the fact that it hadn't rained in weeks.

"Oh, look at you." she delighted, walking over with a spring in her step. Ms. Figg went 'round the counter, and stepped in front of the woman, hands on her hips.

"None of that. You got what you wanted, no leave the girl be," she said, and while Ms. Figg was generally stern, there was a hardness in her voice that Prim only heard when she was speaking to the Dursleys.

"But… But she's… Oh come on Arabella, let me-"

"Out of my shop. Out of my shop now or I will set my cats on you."

The woman lifted her arms, and with one last long look at Prim, left the shop. Ms. Figg huffed, tapping her tartan slippers. She turned around a frown on her face.

"Primrose, anyone tries to talk you, what do you do?"

Prim stopped her sewing and answered clearly:

"I walk away or I look for another adult. I know, Aunt Petunia is always telling me to stay away from the people that are strangely dressed."

Primrose was ten years old and felt a little silly, she knew enough to not talk to strangers. Ms. Figg nodded.

"Well good. Smart girl. Ten years old already..." a strange look crossed her face, "One more year and you'll be eleven. Big age eleven."

Primrose hummed in agreement, that meant that she would be going to a separate Secondary school, away from Delilah, in a year's time.

She couldn't wait.

* * *

 **AN: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or world. They all belong to J.K. Rowling, the publishing companies, and movie studio.**

 **This is just me playing in its sandbox, making misshapen sand castles.**

 **Well, here we go, chapter two of _The Langauge of Flowers_. Frankly, gender bent Harry Potter is one of the things that brought me to fanfiction in the first place, and this is my third attempt at making my own. Third, because I always feel dissatisfied with whatever I had. My previous, second version of 'Girl Who Lived' which was the subsequent title, was just not right. I went over it, my notes, and realized that despite the changes I had done, 'Harriet' was too much like Harry, despite the change of gender, and despite what I had in mind for down the line. I tried to finish the chapter, after two years of not touching the story, couldn't, so I tried editing it, and that went into a segway of looking over everything.**

 ** _The Language of Flowers_ came from looking at everything, from what I had for the next chapter, to the outline, and reviews I had so kindly gotten. **

**This will be my last iteration of the 'Girl Who Lived' story, and I hope that my readers will enjoy Primrose Dorea Potter as much as I enjoy writing her.**

 **I hope you like this glimpse of Prim's life and everyone around her, and look forward to the next chapter, _Boa Constrictors Are Rather Friendly._**

 **~Happy Reading, and please review,**

 **Moon Witch '96**


	3. A Rather Friendly Boa Constrictor

**Boa Constrictors Are Rather Friendly**

A Bouquet of Narcissus & Candytuft:

 _Egotism_ _&_ _Indifference_

 _23 June, 1991_

Primrose Potter was awake, not for the first time, very very early in the morning. A bit before dawn really, the light had yet to come in from the shutters of the cupboard door at least. Her hands were sore, as all night she had spent working on the latest batch of her dolls, which Ms. Figg the other day had remarked were getting better each passing year. Primrose enjoyed the praise, genuine and given with a small, warm smile, which was rare for the older woman. Ms. Figg was a stern old woman, a little crazy if her hair rollers and tartan slippers were anything to go for, but she was very kind to Primrose, so she could not fault her for her little oddness. Primrose herself wasn't exactly normal, herself. She made a mental note to try and make something for her employer and sometimes babysitter after her accident.

Primrose had seen it happen, after all.

Ms. Figg had broken her leg tripping over Snowball the Third in her shop, all the which Primrose had been witness to. She had been petting Patches not a minute before at the till, her numb legs aching slightly at the prolonged weight on her thin, knobby legs(Patches was one of Ms. Figs older and fatter cats not that the proud thing would ever hear a word of it without scratching a good divet of skin off). Ms. Figg tripped and crashed into the side of the heavy oak desk that served as a counter for the heavy and old fashioned register as Snowball raced past her legs, meowing at the refilled bowl of food.

It was the reason Primrose was so determined to finish this batch of stuffed animals and small dolls by today, as it would mean that it would be one less thing for to worry about the old woman when she came back from the hospital. While Ms. Figg had insisted on keeping the shop open as much as possible, Prim wondered if it was for the best. Over the phone, she had patiently explained that she would be two weeks in the hospital because of her brittle bones, for Prim to keep up her school work and expect the shop to open soon. Prim had offered to keep the shop open herself, she knew how to keep the till and close up, but Ms. Figg had vehemently refused.

She took that as a soft reminder not to slack off when it came to her school work and to use her spare keys to the shop only to remove dust. She struggled to ignore the pain in her hands or the lead weights she had for eyelids; she had made thirty-nine complete stuffed animals and cloth dolls over the last few days and was nearly done with her fortieth doll, which would keep for a while before Primrose could get her hand on some more fabric decent fabric(now that she had begun to get a steadier wage from Ms. Figg, she had stopped using Deliah's scraps for her dolls). With one last stitch and a careful tug to tie it seamlessly together, Primrose smiled in tired relief. She grabbed the large box from beneath her bed added the latest doll and set to putting her sewing supplies away best she could in her tired state.

At least to the point where she didn't have to worry about needles or pins poking her in her sleep. The scraps of fabric she more or less just kicked to the end of the bed with her socked feet(mismatched and rolled around her ankles in a baggy, but a warm mass of wool), before curling around her worn and faded stag toy. It was roughly the size of her now, she thought faintly, she had made it larger than her when she was six. It showed in the slightly cruder stitchwork and patchwork of Delilah's old clothes. She smiled faintly, snuggling into the familiar, different textures of fabric, before closing tired emerald eyes for much-needed sleep.

It wasn't even two hours when Primrose was woken up:

"WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" screeched her Aunt Petunia, rapping her rather bony knuckles against the wooden door of the cupboard under the stairs. It rang fast and sharp.

Primrose was startled awake, squeezing her eyes closed and pulling a colorful round cushion over her head, pressing it to her ears. She didn't want to wake up. Her dream had been rather nice for once; the main features of this particular dream where the roar of a large flying motorcycle and a deep, but comforting, booming voice. She had many dreams like this: vague and made her chest warm or wake up with wide eyes and a pounding heart for the sheer sense of dread that came from her worst nightmares of green, sickly light. Her eyes flickered to the small alarm clock she had placed in the built in shelves of her cupboard, it was eight o'clock!

"Get up, you lazy brat! Nothing can get ruined on Delilah's special day!" Her aunt's voice hissed irritably as she rapped on the door one last time.

Primrose groaned, wanting to hit herself. _How could she forget about Delilah's birthday?_ She wouldn't have tried to finish her dolls last night if she had remembered!

"What was that?" snapped her aunt, sounding dangerously annoyed. Not a good sign for the start of a day.

"Nothing, Aunt Petunia," Primrose responded quickly, still mentally cursing her cousin's birthday as she scrambled out of bed. She dressed quickly in what were her best clothes, knowing her Aunt would expect nothing less for today, running upstairs to the loo to brush her teeth and her hair in quick succession along with a quick splash of water to her face.

She briefly glanced at her reflection in the mirror, her pale green ribbons in her mouth as she brushed her messy hair back. Primrose was a scrawny little girl that seemed even smaller than anybody she knew(she required a small stool to stand tall enough for the mirror), even some of the younger kids at her school. Her wild raven-colored hair was always in disarray, reaching close to her waist, long and heavy(not fine nor bright like Delilah's). Her eyes were a very pretty almond shape, were colored a dazzling emerald, but were much too large, making her look like a demented owl and were set in a much too pale face. Another of her features, one that was normally hidden from view, was a strange lighting bolt-shaped scar, just above her finely arched left eyebrow, that she was told she had received in the car crash that had killed her parents.

It was why Primrose always parted her hair to the left and used a hair clip to keep her hair tucked tightly, to hide the ugly, raised mark on her head. She frowned at her appearance, taking in the way her eyes were red and puffy and her hair was sticking up from her small bout of sleep. She smothered it down best she could with her cheap, plastic comb, spitting out the thick ribbons she had made from a pretty satiny material of her Aunt's old dressing gown. She tied her hair sharply back, tight and out of the way. She ignored her scar and the bruised skin underneath her eyes and scampered to the dining room.

"Brush your hair, girl!" snapped her Uncle Vernon as if that was the normal morning greeting to give a ten-year-old girl, " You look a mess, look at how nicely arranged Delilah's is!"

Primrose pressed her lips together in agitation at the demand, straightening her small dress neatly. She had, after all, brushed her hair to the best of her ability. She did not have Delilah's straight, fine hair, which was currently tied neatly into pigtails, loose things that reached past her large shoulders in a lovely, shiny mass of gold.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon. After I finish with Aunt Petunia in the kitchen."

She smiled pleasantly, earning a grunt from her uncle and a narrowed eye look from Delilah before she walked into the kitchen where her aunt stood waiting.

"Care for the bacon, and don't you dare let it burn!" snapped Aunt Petunia, her pale, cornflower blue eyes narrowed at her niece suspiciously.

It was if the woman was under the impression that Primrose would actually do it on purpose if only to ruin Delilah's birthday. Primrose only nodded politely in response, smiling tightly at her Aunt as she set to work and didn't even bother to protest. She knew that it would give her trouble and Primrose Potter always tried to avoid trouble because it already had a knack for finding her without her actively trying. Her Aunt pursed her lips, pinching Primrose's ear sharply in warning before she left the kitchen in Primrose's hands.

She cared for the bacon and the eggs, the coffee, the pancakes, and she even managed to squeeze some fresh orange juice for her family as her Aunt squealed over Delilah turning eleven. She laid the breakfast feast on the already full table, leaving things in what little space there was between the dozens of presents, and even on top of the gaudily-wrapped packages. She sat down and spared a glance at her cousin. Delilah's demeanor was much concentration and her chubby face was pulled down in a frown as she glared down at the table full of presents. Her lips move soundlessly as her blue eyes flickered about the table several times then doubled back around like she was silently trying to count them but kept losing her place.

"How many are there?" she asked finally in a high voice. It was sickly sweet and Primrose knew for a fact that she adopted an even higher one for her parents.

Primrose couldn't help but flinch. Delilah's squeaky bellow of a voice was etched in the start of her anger as if she could barely contain her emotions. Even her body was beginning to tremble, a nasty sign for Primrose and for her aunt and uncle.

"Thirty-seven, counted them myself," replied her uncle in a slightly proud, as if counting presents were such an incredible feat.

Of course, counting his little flower's presents probably _was_ a very incredible feat for him. There were so many, after all.

Delilah's already pink face turned a dark shade of red, vivid and hot, her already frowning mouth pulled into a deeper scowl. Primrose immediately sensed danger from these signs, so she carefully removed her breakfast plate into her lap, keeping her juice between her knobbly knees. Her cousin had the habit of lifting the table and knocking it over in her anger if she didn't get her way. Needless to say, she overturned it a lot, even when she did get her way.

"Thirty-seven? But last year, last year I had thirty-eight!" screeched the girl, slamming her large, manicured fists on the table once, rattling the dishes and knocking over an empty glass, sending it clattering and most likely shattering to the floor.

Aunt Petunia had long learned her daughter's whims. She smiled a bit too widely, pulling at her high cheekbones and the sharp aged lines at the corner of her mouth, she said, in a sickly sweet baby voice:

"And we'll get you two more presents at the zoo. Two more, how's that my little flower?" She said softly, placing a soothing hand on her daughter's hair. She tweaked her ribbon pigtails carefully, humming at Delilah.

Delilah's scowl turned into an expression of the utmost concentration and her eyes took a pained look as she struggled to mentally add the two numbers together.

"Then I'll have thirty-thirty-," She said in a slightly calmer tone, looking very confused.

"Thirty-nine, flower dear." Aunt Petunia informed her soothingly, smiling at her child sweetly, or as sweetly as she could manage to make herself.

Primrose knew better than to roll her eyes at this, but that didn't mean that the temptation wasn't there. She instead placed her plate and cup back on the table, sighing in relief. She wouldn't have to pick up after her cousin's temper tantrum, other than the thankfully not shattered glass. Delilah just nodded, a smug look on her face as she looked at Primrose for just the briefest second.

Delilah liked that her cousin never got anything good for her own birthday. Just left over things that Delilah was so nice to give to her cousin. Delilah knew so because her mummy always praised her for being generous and nice. Delilah knew she was all those things, but she loved being praised for it.

It showed to Delilah how much love she had in her, especially in comparison to her strange, horrible cousin, who never gave her anything in return.

She smiled at her cousin's pale face, watching her big eyes blink at her evenly, not giving anything away. But like her Aunt Marge always said, she could see the badness in her eyes. It was horrible, it was why her mummy and daddy punished Primrose. It was because she was bad. Delilah made sure to act the same way, as her mummy and daddy liked it when she did. She turned her attention back to her presents, which she started to tear into with a gleeful smile. Every so often, as she unwrapped something, she gave out an appropriate squeal or groan, depending on the gift she had received.

Uncle Vernon just gave a small chuckle.

"My little flower wants her money's worth, doesn't she? Smart just like her father!" he said in an amused tone and looked at his only child with the utmost love in his eyes.

He gave her a fond pat on the head and a proud smile. Primrose frowned, looking down at her small breakfast and felt her hands form a fist underneath the table for a brief second. She was grateful when Aunt Petunia left to answer the ringing telephone, knowing that if she had been caught, the gesture would most likely earn her several hours in her cupboard. She ignored the presents Delilah was opening and instead focused on her meager breakfast. Her toast was long gone, and she dug in slowly to the one egg that her aunt had allowed her to eat as if she needed to make it last. She sipped her glass of juice quietly and ignored the longing she held for the enormous feast she had practically prepared by herself.

It wasn't for her; it never was, actually. She couldn't remember when the last time she had had a meal like this one made for her.

In fact, Primrose Potter never had a decent meal and hadn't for ten long years. Not since the car accident, she assumed. Her parents must have loved her; there was no way that they had been the roaring drunks as her aunt told her about when she asked. Primrose didn't know the true story but she knew that her parents couldn't have been that.

They couldn't.

Instead, she imagined a warm loving home, not the cold and cruel place that her aunt described with contempt. It just simply didn't sound right to Primrose, not with the way that Aunt Petunia treated her own daughter and husband. Surely her mother had done the same for her?

Her Aunt Petunia came into the dining room, her face scrunched up in clear annoyance. She had pulled the telephone into the dining room, long cord wrapped around her thin wrist, and she was looking at Primrose as if she had somehow caused some major disaster.

"Bad news Vernon, Ms. Figgs broke her leg and she can't take the girl," she jerked her thumb at Primrose, frowning angrily.

While her cousin let out a sound of utter horror, Primrose's heart began to beat faster. She had known this, of course, she had spoken to Ms. Figg over the phone herself. But that wasn't the issue, she suddenly realized, as every year on Delilah's birthday, the Dursleys went out, either with one friend of Delilah's or not. Every year they went to fantastic places like amusement parks, movie theaters, and fairs.

Places Primrose had longed to go to.

But they never brought Primrose, oh no. Year after year, she went to the Ms. Figg's' house, which wasn't as bad as they seemed to think, especially after Ms. Figg had started selling her dolls. Whenever she was at Ms. Figgs' there was always something to do: sometimes they would go off to the shop, or Ms. Figgs would simply pop in a movie onto her Telly as her various cats would pounce onto the couch with them and purr up a storm. But Ms. Figg was in the hospital at the moment, so she knew for sure that she wouldn't be able to go there. If she was lucky, she could stay in the house and actually eat decently for once and maybe even have a go at Delilah's computer, something she had been longing to do since Delilah gotten it last Christmas.

Although she felt faintly sorry for Ms. Figg's leg, she couldn't help but feel really happy at the prospect of staying at home and have a few blissful Dursley-free hours. It was almost like the perfect birthday gift. So she crossed her fingers hopefully beneath the table, staring at her family blankly, hiding her true emotions as they had drilled her to do.

"So now what?" asked her Aunt sharply, folding her arms angrily across her thin body.

She gave Vernon an angry glare as if suggesting that this may be his fault and demanding that he do something about it.

"We could phone Marge," responded Uncle Vernon halfheartedly, wilting slightly underneath his wife's scalding look.

He looked over at the stock-still Delilah and the quivering Primrose before coughing slightly into his meaty hand, frowning.

"Don't be silly Vernon, she hates the girl!" Aunt Petunia snapped immediately, her frown deepening at the idea.

Primrose always wondered why her Aunt and Uncle spoke like this about her. It was as if she wasn't in the room or invisible or something. Or maybe they thought her below their full attention as if they were speaking about a slug or some other disgusting but stupid creature. She never quite dared to ask why, though; a quiet life in this house meant to never ask questions. No matter how curious Primrose got. She had long learned to be silent and wait. It was what her family wanted from her.

"What about your friend? Yvonne?" asked Vernon hopefully.

"On holiday in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia, looking furiously at her niece, as if she had caused all this.

Primrose simply slumps down in her chair for a bit, trying to be as small as possible, thinking for a moment before she spoke:

"You could just leave me here, Aunt Petunia. I won't leave my cupboard other than to go the loo or to eat during lunch."

Both of her relatives turned slightly pale as they glanced at each other. Almost in unison, they shake their heads, dismissing the idea before turning back to their niece.

"And come back to find the house in ruins?" snarled her aunt, as she actually thought if the ten-year-old was capable of physically reducing a house to cinders or just plain leaving a mess.

"I won't blow up the house," mumbled Primrose sadly, knowing she had already lost the battle.

When they started talking about the order of the house, she knew she was beaten.

"I suppose we could take her to the zoo-And leave her in the car," said her Aunt slowly, clearly ignoring her niece.

Uncle Vernon immediately frowned, shaking his head and vetoing the idea even before his wife could finish speaking.

"The car is new, she isn't sitting there alone!" He snapped, shaking his head at the idea.

He glared at a spot over Petunia's head as if already imagining the wreckage of his precious new vehicle. He shuddered in disgust, his chubby fingers beginning to stroke his mustache in worry. Delilah began to cry. She hadn't truly cried in a long time but the girl was an excellent actress, knowing that all she had to do to get what she wanted was to screw up her face and bawl. Real tears slipped down her fat cheeks as she sobbed to her mother.

"But-But mummy, she always ruins everything! She can't come, she can't! I don't want her to!" wailed the girl in a shockingly good shaky voice.

Her mother looked horrified as she flung herself toward her daughter and tried (but failed) to wrap her arms completely around Delilah's enormous width.

"Don't cry my little flowerkins, mummy won't let her ruin your special day!" cried Aunt Petunia, gently crooning soothing words to her privately, patting her mop of blond hair lovingly.

While her mother fussed over her for a few minutes, Delilah gave her cousin a nasty grin from under her mother's arms, obviously knowing that she was about to win and Primrose was going to be sent somewhere horrible and away from her. Primrose slumped in her seat, sighed and smiled in return. _Control your temper, do not stop smiling. Remember a good little girl does not cause strange things to happen. A good little girl does not cause strange things to happen._ A moment later, however, the noise of an oddly shrill and annoying doorbell rang and Aunt Petunia's head snapped up in surprise.

"Oh lord, they're here!" said a frustrated Aunt Petunia, leaving her daughter to go and attend to the people at the door.

As her best friend Penelope Polkiss came in the door, Delilah stopped her false tears at once. Mrs. Polkiss and Aunt Petunia chatted in a friendly way as Primrose quietly cleaned up the table. Penelope just sneered at the girl, her rat-like face turning uglier as she glared with clear dislike toward the girl. While Primrose would never admit it, the rat-like girl scared her a little. After all, she was definitely smarter than Delilah and usually found Primrose when she took off to hide during a 'wonderful' game her cousin had invented: Primrose Hunting.

The game was simple; give Primrose a head start and then beat her senseless when you found her. Nearly all of their schoolmates participated, and those who didn't would suffer the wrath of Delilah's gang. And nobody liked the wrath of Delilah's gang. At first, all of her year mates had been very reluctant. They had seemed to like Primrose well enough during the earlier years of her Primary, but as more odd things happened around her, the more readily everyone had been in chasing after Primrose during the Hunt of the recess.

Primrose had long learned to be very quick and very clever in how she handled herself during the Hunts. Despite her small size and short legs, she was very fast, very nimble in dodging fists and kicks. She was also fairly clever and could hide well. Primrose Hunting usually ended with no winner, other than Primrose herself, but her schoolmates did not count it at all.

Primrose, a few moments later, was blinking in sheer surprise. She was sitting between Delilah and Penelope heading for the zoo, the only place (other than school, and Ms. Figg's house) that she had been to other than the Dursleys' house. But before she could even set foot outside of the house, her Uncle Vernon set her aside, his large meaty hands tight at the back of her nicest, prettiest green dress she could find. He put his great puce walrus-like face to her small and pale one, giving her a fierce glare that made her quiver.

"Now... I'm warning you. Warning you right now! Any funny business, any at all... And you'll be inside of that cupboard till Christmas!" he snarled to Prim as his piggy eyes narrowed threateningly, informing the girl that he would, in fact, be keeping his promise.

"I won't do anything... honest!" Primrose promised, tearing up in her sincerity.

She really didn't want anything to happen on this trip any more than her relatives did, she wanted to have a nice day out since it was very unlikely that she would have another.

But her uncle didn't believe her even after all of her pleading.

Nobody ever did. The fact of the matter was that strange things tended to happen around Primrose. She could never explain them but she had the funniest feeling that they were caused by her. An example was from several years before when she had come back from the barber shop and looked like she had never stepped foot in there. Her hair had remained exactly the same, despite her usual trimming and how much the hairy fat barber had sheared off. Her Aunt Petunia had gotten so annoyed by Primrose's hair that she had grabbed a pair of rusty kitchen scissors, and cut it so short that she had been almost bald. She had only left Primrose's bangs to, in her words, 'to cover that horrible scar'.

Delilah had laughed herself silly that day while Primrose spent a sleepless night imagining what all the kids at school would say to her. She was already teased for her clothes, everyone claiming that she had taken from Delilah's(it was true but not because wished it to be so, even her pocket money could only afford her underwear and trainers that actually fit, but most of it was set aside for her future), for her large eyes and for her thin, knobby legs. She didn't need to look like a boy, too! Her fears, however, were unnecessary because the next morning her hair had grown back, straight to her waist in a messy wave. Her Aunt and Uncle had been furious and Primrose had been given one week in her cupboard, with no meals because of it.

They didn't care that she didn't even know how her hair had grown back so soon.

Thankfully Primrose wasn't always punished for her little 'incidents' as she liked to call them. Once, she had been in pruning in the flower garden at one point simply just exhausted because she had already spent the night before sewing some dolls for the shop. She had fallen back, yawned at aching over the back breaking work. Only, when she stood to finish her quarter of the way done a job, had been surprised at the sight of the weed free and perfectly pruned flowers in front of her.

Unfortunately, Primrose didn't always get a free pass on things. Once she had gotten in so much trouble when she was trying to run away from the children at her school during a lovely game of Primrose Hunting. She had attempted to jump behind some trash cans behind the school kitchens, but to everyone's (and especially her own) surprise she was on the roof of the school kitchens, sitting on the lip of the chimney. The headmistress had sent a very angry letter to her aunt and uncle, accusing Primrose of climbing school buildings (without mention of the bullying). That had earned her a month in the cupboard, no meals. Primrose had no idea how she had managed to jump so high but supposed the wind must have caught her mid-jump. She was so small that she didn't even think about it. Not to mention, she remembered scrambling to catch the lip of the chimney, pushing her legs awkwardly under her to sit on it.

But today she wanted none of that. She was going to be good, she wanted to show her Aunt and Uncle that she was _good._ She could do that for one day! Couldn't she? Her Uncle meanwhile, was driving and complaining, one of his favorite pastimes. He always seemed to complain about the same things: the incompetent people at his firm Grunnings, Primrose, the council, Primrose, the bank, Primrose, young people, and Primrose.

Today it seemed to be motorcycles.

"...roaring around like maniacs, the young hoodlums!" sneered her uncle as a teenage boy on a gigantic black motorcycle overtook them, serving gracefully into the next lane over and speeding up.

Primrose watched him admirably, wishing she could be so graceful on something. She wasn't clumsily(Her Aunt Petunia had long made sure that she would never spill during tea time nor would she fumble in the kitchen), but despite her quickness and sureness of foot, Primrose was positive that she never looked so beautiful doing something. Nor as cool.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle… It had been flying," mumbled Primrose dreamily, as if in a trance. She would immediately grow to regret her words.

Her uncle nearly crashed the car. Primrose mentally slapped herself, why had she said that? The thing her uncle said next was predictable. He turned around and shoved his great beet red face near Primrose's pale one, causing the ten-year-old girl to jump back in shock.

"MOTORCYCLES _DON'T_ FLY!" He snarled viciously as her cousin and Penelope sniggered, sending nasty grins to Primrose.

"I know that... It was only a dream," whispered Primrose softly, ashamed of sharing one of her dreams with her family. She knew that they didn't want to hear it and she knew that being quiet is how they liked her.

It was really dumb of her, actually. She had no idea why she blurted that out but she should have known better. If asking questions was a forbidden act, then saying things acted the way it shouldn't, it was as if she had boiled a puppy in front of them. It was a monstrosity and a horror to them. That was why they never let her watch cartoons or really anything on television; they seemed to think she would get dangerous ideas.

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon at the zoo and dozens of families were up and about. While her uncle bought tickets, her aunt bought ice-cream for both Delilah and Penelope. Because the smiling lady asked Harriet what she wanted before anyone could tell her otherwise, her aunt bought her a cheap lemon pop. Primrose actually enjoyed it; it was pretty good, despite its price. Sweet and tart as she found out, she liked it.

She walked a little ways apart from the Dursleys and Penelope, enjoying the very rare walk outside of Privet Drive and feeling sympathetic toward the animals she saw in their habitats. Like them, she always felt like she was in a cage. While their cages were made out of reinforced metal, hers was the cage of being alone. Whenever someone tried to break the bars, the Dursleys always seemed to chase them away and made sure that they never came back. It always happened, whether it was her cousin chasing off a kid at school, or her aunt shooing away a friendly adult. So Primrose made sure to smile at every animal, and she had

the strangest feeling that they were all smiling back at her.

They had a pleasant lunch a few hours later. Primrose ate her simple meal of a grilled chicken sandwich(the least expensive item on the list) in silence and was close to tears when her cousin whined about her knicker-bottom glory, simply because her Uncle allowed her to eat the first after he ordered another one. Primrose had one of the best mornings in her life so far, it was almost as if she was a real member of the Dursley family. She actually felt a little uneasy, as if someone was going to come out and take it away from her.

She didn't know just how on target she was.

After lunch, their party of five went into the reptile house. It was fairly dark and pleasantly cool inside but the displays on the tanks and cages were all lit up with a more or less bright yellowish light. Primrose rolled her eyes at her cousin as the easily-excited girl squealed at every scaly thing in sight. She also smiled at all of the animals in the reptile house and even started to have a bit of fascination with some of them, particularly the snakes.

They just seemed so interesting to Primrose, though she didn't know why. The way they moved was beautiful, all concentrated muscles moving in an easy pushing motion. Or the way their scales glittered in the warm light of their tanks. Penelope, as she was definitely braver than her cousin, quickly found the biggest snake in the place and proceeded to gawk at it. Delilah quickly followed her friend, seemingly determined not to be bested by even her best friend. They both watched it with a fascination for several minutes as it sat in its tank-like cage and remained still on a large fake rock. However, they got quickly bored, the damned thing simply wasn't moving!

"Make it move," whined Delilah to her father, giving Uncle Vernon an irritated look.

She pointed at it, frowning angrily as it remained, unmoving, on its plastic rock. Her father made a shrewd expression, then he rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles. The snake still didn't move.

"Do it again, daddy!" She demanded, stamping her foot in irritation as she glared at the giant creature in distaste.

Despite the creature's size (It could have easily wrapped its giant body around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it), it actually seemed like it was dead or fake. In fact, it looked like the snake was fast asleep. Ignoring this, Uncle Vernon rapped his knuckles against the glass again but this time much harder. And yet the snake still stayed motionless. Delilah's face scrunched up in displeasure, and she crossed her arms.

"This is boring... Let's go!" she huffed, walking away with her father and friend, her annoyance shown clearly on her face.

Primrose, however, moved forward, smiling at the snake. She smiled apologetically at the giant boa and quietly read the small sign beside its tank. 'Boa Constrictor, Brazil.' Without realizing it, she began to speak quietly to the boa, in a soft voice, focusing in its eyes, its clear eyelids shining oddly in the warm yellow light of the large tank.

"Sorry about that. I don't really think that Delilah knows what it's like to be alone for real. It must be terrible, lying there day after day, just being annoyed for no reason. Being caged up like this and all-" Primrose stopped in the middle of her sentence and simply stared at the snake.

It looked back at her, seeming to nod in agreement to her words, "Can you... understand me?"

She whispered hoarsely; the snake lifted its body, moving its head upwards until its eyes were level with Primrose's.

Then it winked.

Prim blinked. Wondering how it had managed that with clear eyelids, but it had so deliberately winked at her! She quickly glanced around the room to see if anyone was paying attention to her before placing her hand on the glass. The boa constrictor hissed softly, but not in a frightening way. It was almost like... a cat's purr, this sound. The constrictor then nodded towards Delilah and Uncle Vernon, who had long since moved away from its cage. It nods conspiratorially, giving Primrose a look that clearly said: 'I get that all the time.'

"Must be very annoying. I know what it's like, but at least I get to visit the rest of the house," Primrose said sympathetically, patting the sheet of glass soothingly.

The snake nodded in agreement, seeming to sigh sadly. It blinked slowly but nudged its nose at the glass, as if trying to get as close to Primrose as possible.

"You came from Brazil, didn't you? Was it nice there? Do you miss your family, Boa?" She asked next, continuing to stroke the glass.

The snake shook its head and jabbed its tail at the sign beside its tank. Primrose took another look at it and silently read that this particular snake had been bred in the zoo. She sighed sadly.

"So... you've never been to Brazil?" She began to ask when all of a sudden, what felt like a large weight slammed into her side, knocking her over.

"Look at what this snake's doing, Delilah! You won't believe it!" Penelope squealed eagerly, shoving her face right up next to the glass.

Delilah waddled over as quickly as she could, kicking her cousin out of her way. Primrose curled up into a ball, nursing her injured side. The snake hissed in aggression and something in Primrose boiled over, hot and angry.

What happened next was so fast that she never really fully understood what really happened. One moment, Delilah and Penelope were leaning up against the glass, staring in awe at the huge snake's movements; the next, they were screaming and had actually fallen forward, slamming into a small pool of water that was in the tank.

Primrose sat up, staring at the glass on the huge tank, or rather, where it _had_ been. It was gone, it had actually vanished! The huge constrictor, on the other hand, was not so surprised and had begun to uncoil itself rapidly. It slithered slowly out of its now open tank, stretching and landing gently on the floor. People all around the reptile house begun to scream when they noticed that one of the snakes was out. Nearly everyone began running for the exits.

As the snake slid swiftly past her, Primrose froze in shock as it nudged her hand gently. It coiled over her, surprisingly warm and supple in her lap. But very, very heavy she noted faintly.

She swore she could hear a low hissing voice whisper:

"Graciassss, ssssweetheart. Not hurt over the monkey's kick, are yoooou?!"

She could only blink. An employee of the zoo took one look at Primrose and started screaming and quickly her Aunt and Uncle, taking one look and both Penelope and Delilah, and the Primrose on the floor, snake on her, started to yell as well. Penelope and Delilah stood up in unison and they press their hands against the reappeared glass. They stare at each other in horror and resumed their screams with a renewed vigor, pounding helplessly at the glass.

"Little girl, do not move!" said the employee, hands up and ready to grab at the snake.

The snake hissed at him, tightening her hold on Primrose for a fraction of the second. It wound around her, nestling its head by her's in an affectionate manner. It licked her face, large head nuzzling her.

"Primrose!" screamed her Aunt, looking distressed.

"Goodbye ssssweetheart. Brazil here I cooome," hissed the snake, before it unwound itself and slithered off, nipping at people's heels if they came to close.

In one quick movement, the male employee snapped her up, pulling her away from the snake's direction of departure.

After the zookeeper in charge of the reptile house had pried open the glass tank and rescued the panicked and sobbing girls, he gave Aunt Petunia a full apology, even offering her and Uncle Vernon some strong tea while they calmed the girls down. "But the glass... where on earth did the glass go?" He kept muttering to himself as he wrapped blankets around the girls, forcing tea on them and soothing them. He paid extra attention to Primrose, patting her wild hair down and looking extremely apologetic at her 'ordeal'. All the while, Uncle Vernon was glaring angrily at Primrose, who had made herself as small and as unnoticeable as possible right next to the zoo-keeper.

After being loaded down with items from the gift shop, the Dursleys and Mrs. Polkiss dragged the two silent but now calm girls to the car. As they walked, Penelope and Delilah slowly became more and more talkative – a possible effect of the beautiful and expensive new sweaters and scarves they had received for no charge from the zoo(The same things that were in a small bag on Primrose's arm, along with season passes clutched in her Uncle's hands) – until they began to describe the "attack" with elaborate detail.

"I swear, it nearly bit off my leg, daddy, I was just so terrified!" Delilah said in a soft, horrified voice, moving as close to her mother as possible.

As far as Primrose could remember, though, all the snake had really done was bite playfully at people's heels as it slithered away; in fact, all it had done to the two girls was move over them to get out. Primrose felt as if she should complain more, after all, the snake had sat on her- it had been rather heavy- but it had done nothing but hiss in pleasure and made sure she was alright.

"Mummy, I was so scared... I think it nearly tried to crush me to death, you know, it coiled around me! I was just so terrified!" Penelope simpered, trembling theatrically.

The adults quickly coddled the two girls, soothing them and assuring them that the snake was going to get and that it would never harm them again. Primrose was about to let the incident go, after all, no one was blaming her for the freak accident when Penelope suddenly said in a direct voice: "But Primrose was talking to it, weren't you?"

The two adults in the front seats of the car (Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia) froze in horror, staring at the trembling ten-year-old in the backseat.

"Oh, don't be silly, Penny, she couldn't have been talking to it," Mrs. Polkiss scolded her, patting her daughter on the head, "Poor dear. That snake around you. Must've been scared half to death, right Primrose?"

Prim only nodded swiftly, ducking her head at Mrs. Polkiss's kind expression. She smiled and patted her arm hesitantly.

"Too right. Primrose was _**not**_ talking to the snake, were you, Primrose?" Uncle Vernon agreed in a snarling voice, giving his niece a nasty glare.

Primrose nodded, feeling numb. She was in trouble.

True to his word, Uncle Vernon punished Primrose over her 'funny business'. He had waited until Penelope and Mrs. Polkiss left the house with their armfuls of free zoo merchandise before grabbing Primrose by the scruff of her dress and throwing her forcibly into her cupboard. He slammed the door shut and spoke softly to her.

"Stay... cupboard... no meals," He was so angry that he could barely speak and he later waddled off to get a large brandy and some soup from Aunt Petunia.

Primrose had expected this and only laid back in exhaustion. It was some time later, when it was dark when Primrose was startled from her somewhat restful sleep.

"Primrose?"

Prim sat up in surprise at the sound of her Aunt's voice.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

It was silent for a moment.

"Did the snake do anything to you?"

Heart beating fast at the soft, hesitant question, Primrose couldn't suppress the smile at the rush of warmth she felt for her Aunt.

"No, ma'am. It just sat in my lap and told me about wanting to go to Brazil."

"It told you?"

Primrose nodded, humming.

"He was very nice."

Her door rattled, her Aunt's pale, well-manicured fingertips eased inside, shaking the door through the shutters of the cupboard door.

"Don't talk like that Primrose," snapped her Aunt, harshly and firm, "Snakes can not talk!"

Prim shrank back, hugging her deer stuffed animal. She knew what she had heard. She knew what had happened! And she didn't like to lie, even if she could never explain what had happened at the zoo.

"But he did."

The door slammed open and her Aunt loomed over her.

"Repeat after me, Primrose, snakes do not talk!"

Primrose frowned, opened her mouth- But saw her Aunt's expression. It was desperate and pale. Primrose had long learned that a good life at the Dursley's was to never talk back, to never ask questions. To always obey and things would go well. She _needed_ things to go well.

"Snakes do not talk," she said softly. The words felt like ash in her mouth, her insides squirming uncomfortably at the lie.

Her Aunt nodded, pale eyes narrowed.

"Again."

"Snakes do not talk."

" _Again._ "

"Snakes do not talk."


	4. The Railview Stranger

**The Railview Stranger**

Bouquet of Mixed Zinnia & Cyclamen

 _Thinking or in Memory of Friend & Resignation and Goodbye_

 _July of 1991_

The escape of the friendly Brazilian Boa cost Primrose the longest punishment she had in her ten years with the Dursleys, even longer than when she had 'climbed' school buildings or ruined Deliah's newest and most expensive dress. It was near the end of school semester, but she was not allowed to leave house under any circumstances, neither to go back to the Ms. Figg's shop (not that her relative knew that she worked with the old woman, as it would mean her small salary would be taken before she could even say 'unfair' or 'earned') or to go about Little Whinging as she pleased.

So for three weeks, she could only leave for school and was immediately shut in her cupboard after she returned, no meals in the morning nor supper. It was only due to the fact that she had a bit of coin money saved up that she could eat at lunch, with extra snacks brought to sneak into her cupboard(away from Delilah's eyes of course). Otherwise, her entire last few weeks in Primary have spent alone, in the boring dark as her Aunt and Uncle snapped at her for upping the electricity bill and it was only her sewing, her small library that she had collected from discount stores that kept her sane along with several small torches(it lit the small space well enough, she only had to make sure to hide them before the morning before they could be taken away). She did not count the various chores her Aunt demand she do as entertainment, rather the reason sometimes she sat in her small cupboard with aches in her hands, knees, and shoulders.

When the summer holidays came 'round and when Delilah had already trashed most of her birthday presents, save for the ones that hadn't interest her in the first place(the books that had mysteriously found their way to Primrose's own cupboard), Primrose was never happier. The first thing she did was gather up the many dolls she had made in a large box over the course of her punishment and march over to Ms. Figg's shop. She had blinked when she had opened the door, hearing that familiar chime of the door above the bell(it was this curiously complicated tune that sounded like belting frogs) and was greeted with Ms. Figg, jumping over on her crutches, her many cats purring at the sight of Primrose.

"Why Primrose," started Ms. Figg in a soft, drawling way, she did not smile, she tended not to, but there was a twinkle in her dark, warm eyes, "It has been some time since you've darkened my shop doorway."

Primrose did smile, as she tended to do in the presence of adults. She made a show of carefully arranging her feet, shoulders back as pressed her hands tightly against the box. Something her Aunt had drilled into her behavior since she could stand steadily enough on her feet. Something about having wonderful posture and good young ladies will not show how she twiddled her thumbs like a silly little girl.

"Hello, Ms. Figg," she said politely, carefully placing her box on the table that more or less has become her's over the last few years, she quickly clasped her hands together, "I've finished my punishment."

Ms. Figg hummed.

"What was it this time, did you turn another Teacher's hair blue? Did you climb school buildings again, ruin Delilah's dress?"

"According to my family, I set a snake loose in the zoo," said Primrose, dryly, a frown on her face, she made sure to turn her back on the old woman.

Ms. Figg hesitated and the noise of the register going off.

"Oh, and why is that?"

"It wanted to go to Brazil. He was rather nice about it… Not that I let it out of course," said Primrose, absently, reaching into the box for her largest stuffed animals.

It was impossible, after all. The glass had just vanished, the head zookeeper himself said it must've been a prank by one of the junior keepers who had thought the snake was out of the tank for whatever reason. They had yet to find the snake, sadly, as the zookeeper was worried whether or not the poor thing could live in such a cold climate. Primrose didn't want to think of such a sad things, as the snake had been so kind and concerned about her.

She went about placing them on their empty shelf, humming as she went.

"The snake said?"

"Yes. But Aunt Petunia said that snakes can't talk."

"They… Can. If you're the right type of person," said Ms. Figg softly and when Primrose turned to look at her, she saw that her brows were furrowed, her lips were pinched. But she didn't seem to be simply indulging her, so Primrose accepted it with a slight nod.

The didn't say anything else on the subject.

Ms. Figg had the uncanny knack of not dismissing whatever Primrose said. She never denied it, never said a negative word about… Primrose's strangeness. It was one of the reasons that Primrose loved Ms. Figg, not that she ever would say it to the older woman's face. She had appearances to keep, after all, most thought Ms. Figg to be a nasty old woman that owned a Shop and wore curlers in her hair at nearly all times and tartan slippers. She was Primrose Potter, that odd, quiet girl that the Dursleys had so lovingly taken in as was their Christian duty. The rest of that day was spent marking up the dolls and stuffed animals, before Primrose swept and dusted the shop and mopped while she was at it, despite Ms. Figg's protest.

Primrose's summer holiday was typical after that, no more strange incidents, for the most part, just going to Ms. Figg's shop or wandering about Little Whinging on her off days. Delilah's own summer was rather typical as well, her small clique of friends felt the need to visit her house every day(hence the reason Primrose was so keen on staying out of the house or its general vicinity herself). Penelope, Denise, Mallory and Godiva were all silly, gossiping, spoiled twits. Since Delilah was the most spoiled, silly and gossiping of the lot, she was the leader. Not to mention the heaviest that could slam down even the burliest boy in their class. Primrose was the object of Primrose Hunting any chance they got. They couldn't catch her on most days: she was very fast despite her short stature and very quick to hide. Not to mention, each time she was in the shop she was left alone, even if they waited outside and sulked for a good hour before they got bored and left her alone.

Primrose was disappointed that school was over(she liked school, even if most of the school staff and children, disliked her), because there went the few hours that she was away from the Dursleys(mostly, she still had every class with Delilah, by some cruel twist of the school board no doubt), but it at least gave her the chance to escape the house without the Dursleys suspecting her of 'lazing about' or up to 'juvenile delinquent activities'. Even if she did all of her chores, as listed every day by her aunt on a sheet of crisp, white paper written out and slipped underneath the door of her cupboard.

Though she felt sad, the end of this summer holidays brought the beginning of something that Primrose had been waiting for the longest time. Being away from Delilah, not only when she escaped the house, but during school. Every year since they had first entered primary school, Primrose and her cousin had been in the same class. Every single year, without fail.

But not this time.

The start of September would bring the beginning of secondary school for the children of number four, which in turn meant that Delilah would be sent off to St. Olga's Academy, which Aunt Petunia had attended as a girl(wonderful school, their grandmother had attended, a tradition that Aunt Petunia had frowned and said that her own mother had not kept, which is why Primrose needn't worry about attending herself). But not Primrose.

No, Primrose would be attending the local public school, Stonewall High. Which meant, that for once in her life Primrose wouldn't be with her cousin during school and that for months on end she wouldn't have to see her cousin because by some grace of heaven it was a boarding school. It also helped that all of Delilah's gang were going to be shipped off to boarding schools as well because their families were able to afford anything for their 'darling' little girls.

Primrose on the hand, would be here in Surrey, still in her cupboard, still with her Aunt and Uncle; she had found some semblance of peace and with Ms. Figg, she suppose the school year could be wonderful until she was old enough to leave for University(her only dream, distant and far away, but something that _would_ happen).

Primrose couldn't help but let a small spark of hope to fill her. No matter how much her cousin tried to scare her about going to Stonewall.

"They stuff your head down the toilets in Stonewall, especially to ugly little girls. Want to practice?" said nastily Delilah one day, as Primrose passed the loo.

Primrose had only looked at her cousin, emerald eyes flashing with quiet mischief.

"The toilet never had anything as horrible as your head down in it. We don't want it to get sick!"

she had said with a wicked grin.

She had left with a small giggle, glad that her Aunt or Uncle were not within earshot as she ran off before her cousin could understand that she had turned her words against her.

Primrose was left at Mrs. Figg's one day because Aunt Petunia and Delilah were going to buy her St. Grace's uniform. Primrose couldn't be happier, nor it seemed could Mrs. Figg, it was, after all, one of the first times this summer that Primrose wasn't to go back to do chores. She kept going on and on about how much she had grown and that she would be very happy with the start of school. Primrose had no idea what she meant by this, but she enjoyed the time to watch television. She had politely declined the chocolate cake Mrs. Figgs had offered her since Primrose remembered seeing Snowball the Fourth licking it.

That evening when Delilah and Aunt Petunia came home, it was Delilah's time to prance around in her St. Olga's uniform. St. Olga's uniform consisted of a bright yellow dress, a white bolero, and a yellow and white beret. The uniform was very pretty, but the person wearing it seemed ugly to Primrose, because Delilah every second or so would send a glower over her, sneering nastily at her cousin who sat quietly, in her cupboard, door slightly open as she went through the motions of sewing up the equivalent of her own uniform(Stonewall wore all grey, with black accents, she was looking at old plans from their old school uniform). Primrose was used to this and tried to smile, kept her lips pressed tightly together and tried not to roll her eyes or show that she was upset at the parade that Delilah was having in front of her.

Her Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were beside themselves.

Her Aunt burst into tears, her fingers trembling as she took picture after picture of Delilah, crying out that her sweet little flower looked so beautiful and grown up. Uncle Vernon did not cry, he only let out a gruff sniff and grunted out that this was the proudest moment of his life. They fussed over her cousin, as they usually did. Called for her to do a twirl and for her to strut and down the parlor like a model or some sort of pageant girl.

Primrose could only look on sadly, ignoring the familiar surge of jealousy coursing through her as her Aunt and Uncle doted on her cousin, looking ever the picture of the perfect family. They didn't know how much she wished she could be a part of it. Primrose went to bed that night with a frown, squinting her eyes as she sewed violently more of her own uniform, determined for it to look as half as lovely, to try to ease her frustration, trying in vain to remember the family that she had had before the accident. Primrose couldn't remember their faces, even after she put her sewing aside, or anything else, but curiously, she dreamed of a soft lulling voice, singing a song that she could never quite place.

As Primrose woke up the next morning she tried to remember where she had heard the song that the voice had been singing, but felt her mind come up at a blank. Instead, deciding that she liked the song so much, she hummed it to herself. She hummed as she dressed and she hummed as she walked into the kitchen, only to find a horrible smell assault her nostrils as she entered. It was so terrible, that she actually stepped back in surprise and concern.

Her Aunt stood at the stove, her heeled foot tapping in an impatient beat. A large tub was being heated and Aunt Petunia stirred it with great disdain, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Primrose climbed up onto the crooked stool reserved for her in the kitchen and peeked over her aunt's thin shoulder.

Inside the tub, dozens of rags swam around in the dirty gray water. Primrose's curiosity peaked and she couldn't help but ask:

"What's that?"

Her Aunt looked over with a displeased expression, lips pursed and eyes narrowed.

"Your uniform," she said simply.

Primrose looked at the tub again and wrinkled her nose. With her Aunt looking away from her, she could have such an expression.

"I didn't know it had to be so wet, Aunt Petunia," she responded to her Aunt, voice quiet and displeased.

Her Aunt turned sharply to her and narrowed her eyes even further, the irises no longer visible, and she snapped out:

"Don't be stupid, I'm dying some of Delilah's old uniforms for you. It will look just like anyone else's after I'm done."

Primrose felt serious disbelief fill her and she found herself imagining herself wearing bits of wrinkled, gray cloth, almost like elephant skin. Even if she could somehow get it cut down to her correct size, she doubted the smell or the feel of the cloth would improve much(She knew her fabric and after her own disastrous attempts at dyeing fabric, she knew if she hadn't properly soaked it in soda ash or something like that, that the color wouldn't take or it would ruin the texture of fabric).

She just knew that her chances of friends went down a large notch. She was making her own uniforms of course, but she would have to leave the house with this mess before changing in the loo, else her Aunt would throw away what she had made. She hummed and hope to find a good spot to change just before anyone saw her when she went to school. With a soft sigh, she jumped off her stool and sat at her side of the table, the song being hummed under her breath again as she found herself bored. She counted down the minutes until she could get started on her chores, as she really rather get that over and done with and head off to Ms. Figg's.

Her Uncle and Delilah came into the kitchen, their noses wrinkled as they caught the smell of Primrose's uniforms. Aunt Petunia came in a little while later as well, arms laden with food, which she gave mostly to her daughter and husband, some for her and the smallest bit to Primrose. They all dug into their food with much relish, save for Aunt Petunia and Primrose, who ate their food daintily and slowly. One because she refused to release the image of a 'proper' lady and the other because she wanted to enjoy what little food they had given her. Not to mention, her Aunt had drilled into her to be a Lady, drilled her to not 'be obnoxious and overindulgent'.

While her Uncle sipped his coffee, he let out a grunt as he reached for something. Only to let out an annoyed huff as he saw that what he was looking for not there. He looked over to Primrose and narrowed his small eyes.

"Where's my paper, girl?" he snarled at her.

Primrose jumped. Large emerald eyes flickering to her Uncle and then quickly back to her plate with soft longing.

"I'll get it now, sir," she said politely, jumping down from her chair and starting down the hall.

"See that you do... And don't forget the mail!" he bellowed to Primrose's back, as she shut the kitchen door with a soft click.

Primrose walked down the hall and felt the urge to hum again, which she did with much pleasure. That song was still stuck in her head, with no indication that it was ever going to get out of it. She opened the front door and walked outside. There was surprisingly, a soft chill and the perfectly cut lawns of Privet drive had a light sprinkling of dew over them. The morning sun hovered weakly in the clear blue sky, as if it was gathering the energy it would surely have toward the middle of the summer afternoon.

Primrose tipped toed through the lawn of number four, ignoring the slight dampness that gathered around the hem of her long skirt or the dampness that seeped through her small, second-hand trainers. She picked up the newspaper and walked back toward the house, humming happily and gaining odd looks from the few people that were up and about Privet Drive. She made a show of waving or calling out a good morning. As typical of most of Privet drive, most either ignored her or pointedly looked away in dismissal.

After all, they had spoken to her Aunt and Uncle and as far as they knew, she was the troubled niece that was constantly in trouble, who they had taken in out of the goodness of their hearts.

Primrose reached the front door again and walked in. She picked up the letters that had fallen on the carpet and flipped through them. There was something that looked like a bill, a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, and- _a letter for Primrose_. Primrose froze, heart hammering in her chest rapidly, as she looked down at the letter in her hand. She never got any letters. Nobody liked her enough to ever send her one, but there in plain emerald ink:

 _Miss Primrose D. Potter_

 _The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Privet Drive_

 _Little Whinging_

 _Surrey_

It really couldn't be for anyone else. The envelope was made of thick and yellowish parchment and it felt heavy in Primrose's small hands. A rough wax seal was inlaid in the envelope, a huge H surrounded with a badger, an eagle, a serpent, and a lion. No stamp. She ran her fingers over and over the lion first, went 'round to the impossibly detailed little creatures, wondering what the letter could possibly say. She was about to open it when a strong bellow from the kitchen caught her attention;

"GIRL! Hurry up, what are you doing checking for letter bombs?"

Her Uncle chuckled at his own joke and Primrose went into the kitchen, not taking her eyes off her letter. She handed the newspaper and mail to her Uncle, sitting down, eyes still glued to her letter. Uncle Vernon grunted, no doubt at the bill and moved on to the post card.

"Marge is ill... Ate a funny whelk..." he said this without much emotion to Aunt Petunia, who just simply tutted in mock sympathy.

Primrose pressed her lips together to stop the giggle that threatened to come out. While she may not openly dislike or wish anyone harm, she thought that Miss Marge Dursley was an especially vicious woman that she could justify laughing at. She was a horrid woman that hated Primrose, a fact that was completely mutual. She went to open the letter to take out two long pieces of parchment(actual parchment, heavy, thick and vividly smooth beneath her hands, she wondered at it, faintly disturbed to think that this was an extremely fine piece of animal skin). The first she began to read, placing the other, which appeared to be some list, aside for later:

 _Miss. Primrose D. Potter,_

 _We are pleased to inform you-_

"DADDY! DADDY, Primrose HAS A LETTER!" squealed out Delilah out of a sudden.

Primrose's eyes snapped up, surprise coursing through her as her uncle snatched the letter out of

her hand.

"That's mine, Uncle Vernon," she said heart racing, face growing warm as she tried to reach for her letter.

"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered her Uncle, easily keeping the letter out of her reach.

His small eyes flickered this way and that as her read the letter and his face did a good imitation of a traffic light as he did.

It went from his usual ugly red color to a sickly yellow, then it went green as he reached the bottom of the letter, and turned into a porridge white color as he glanced at the address on the envelope.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped out, lips turning an alarming gray as he shoved the letter to his wife.

Aunt Petunia pursed her lips, taking the letter gingerly from her husband. Her fish colored eyes did a quick scan of the letter, widening as she went.

Her face quickly paling as she looked up to her husband. She clutched her throat with her spindly hands, seemingly choking as she tried to get her words out.

"Vernon, Oh my goodness, Vernon!" she finally choked out.

Both her Uncle and her Aunt stared at each other, not saying a word. An immense silence filled the kitchen as both the adults gazed at each other, horror covering every inch of their faces. Delilah would have none of this, she hated being ignored, so with an impatient huff, she shouted at both her parents:

"I WANT TO SEE THE LETTER!"

She tugged viciously at her father's suit jacket and then tugged at her mother's dress. Both her mother and father looked over to their daughter, then to Primrose, horror increasing on their faces. Uncle Vernon was the first to say anything out of the two adults. It was such a quiet whisper that both Delilah and Primrose almost missed it.

"Get out..."

Primrose couldn't stand it. After all these years they always bossed her around, forced her to do all the domestic work in the house and eat at a minimum, she did it all without complaint, to _please_ them. Yet they could never even give back half the kindness she showed toward them. This was the breaking point, she was always one to keep her temper in check, but she couldn't _stand_ it anymore. They dared to keep something that was hers away from her, they dared to force her away.

 _Not without a fight, not this time._

"No," it came out of Primrose in a soft whisper, but everyone, including her Uncle and Aunt who despite their distraction couldn't help but be flabbergasted at the fact that she had said _no_.

"What?" asked her Aunt, dazed and filled with horror.

Primrose looked up, into the eyes of her Aunt and missed the flicker of recognition that passed her Aunt's fish colored eyes.

"No. I won't leave. It's mine. It has my cupboard on it, it has my name. I want to read it and you have no right to deny that to me." Primrose's voice was trembling with ten years' worth of emotion.

She had been so intent on being good, but she wondered viciously if it had even been worth it. _They didn't even like her and they were supposed to be her family_.

"No right?" her Aunt repeated, eyes still dazed, replacing Primrose with another little girl, a little girl with dark red hair and the very same face as Primrose.

A little girl that was glaring at her for doing this to her daughter, a little girl that Petunia knew would never forgive her. A little girl that Petunia had missed with something close to an ache, ever since the day she discovered that they would be apart, because of what she was. Because she couldn't be like her, no matter how much she had wished for it. Who she had hated and resented for being so perfect and _special_. Especially when Petunia was so decidedly not. But what good had it done her? Gotten herself killed by getting by that lot!

"No right, now give me my letter."

Her Uncle seemed to snap out of his daze and he looked down at Primrose, with the deepest loathing and disdain.

"No right? No right you say? We have the bloody right, you stupid brat, we have the every right to deny you _anything_ we bloody want to, so GET OUT! OUT!" he bellowed to the small ten-year-old, soon to be eleven-year-old.

Primrose didn't even flinch, all those years of being yelled at seemed to have paid off. She looked into her Uncle's small narrow eyes with the calmest of expressions.

" _No,_ " she repeated.

Delilah stood silently in shock, watching her small cousin go against her parents, something that she had never dared do before. How could she, one who looked like she could break with a single sound, how could she stand so firm now, when all the time before she would buckle so easily at the slightest thing? Maybe, said a small voice in Delilah's head, was because she only bent, but didn't break. She always _smiling_ \- even when Delilah knew she had no reason too. She wasn't smiling now, rather, for the first time in a long time Delilah saw that her cousin had this tight, red face, openly narrowing her eyes and glaring at her mummy and daddy. It was so unlike her usual, flat, empty smile that Delilah knew she never meant, as pleasant as it looked.

Uncle Vernon seemed to have snapped, because he grabbed hold of Primrose by the back of her blouse, then, he grabbed his own daughter and without much effort(he had played rugby and cricket in his Uni days and had only recently at the request of his worried wife had he switched to golf) he heaved both the girls into the hallway and locked the kitchen door behind him with a loud click.

Both the girls scrambled for the door and had a brief but silent fight over the keyhole. Primrose, with most of her hair, pulled from her ponytail, laid herself onto her stomach to listen through the bottom of the door. She saw her uncle's large polished black shoes moving back and forth and she heard his bellow of a voice as she pressed her ear tightly to the bottom of the pale wood:

"I don't want one in the house Petunia! The second we found the brat on the porch we swore we stamp out this rubbish of hers! WE SWORE IT! And I refuse to deal with that freakish rubbish now!"

Primrose, moved her eyes over to see her Aunt's small kitten heels shuffle, moving uneasily as she tried to calm her husband.

"Vernon, we could just write to them... Tell them we don't-" Aunt Petunia said nervously, high voice even higher than usual.

Uncle Vernon would have none of this, he interrupted his wife sharply, voice rising in anger with each word:

"WE WILL NOT CONTACT THEM! They will see that after our response is not given, that we don't want it. Petunia, dear, do you want Delilah to have one of _them_ near her? They will send for someone to talk to us if we respond!"

Aunt Petunia didn't respond. Primrose saw her drop to the ground, arms being wrapped around her scrawny legs, looking ever defeated.

"Lily would hate me..." whispered her Aunt, so softly that Primrose doubted that Uncle Vernon heard her because he was still ranting.

"We have to keep that brat in the dark, she will never know what she is, NEVER!" bellowed her Uncle, still not noticing his wife's collapse on the floor.

Primrose could only go to her cupboard, eyes hard and piercing as she finished hearing the unmistakable sound of parchment being shredded and her Uncle's crazed laughter.

Later, while Primrose hummed softly to herself, reading a small book of myths(a cover for sewing patterns over the real cover), she heard the sound of her cupboard door being opened. She sat up, filled with confusion as her Uncle's face came into her cupboard door, the rest of his enormous body blocking the door, clearly straining to get to the small space, then he gave up after a moment, seeing that it was quite impossible to fit his enormous body into the cupboard. Then he smiled at Primrose, something that looked quite forced and painful on her Uncle's part.

"Hello, Primrose. Kinda crowded in here, wouldn't you say? Your Aunt and I have been thinking, this cupboard is really getting a little too small, even for you! Why don't you pack all your things up and move them to Delilah's second bedroom, hmm?" he said this all in a painfully nice voice, and Primrose could see a vein in his great puce face twitching as he stared down at her.

"You should have given me that letter instead," was all she said to her Uncle, as she turned around and started to gather her things.

It took three trips to the smallest of the four bedrooms of number four to carry all of Primrose's worldly belongings, her books, then her sewing things, her clothes and whatever else she had. She spread out her things on the small and spindly bed that had belonged to Delilah at the age of five and made sure all of her things were there. That done, she put them away, ignoring all the broken toys that were around her(those she chucked into a trash bag, except for the ones she thought she could repair), all things that had been beautiful and wonderful, before her cousin Delilah had gotten her reckless hands on it.

She ran her fingers through a large shelf of books and came up with dust a few seconds later as she lifted her fingers away; it looked like Delilah had at least left something alone. Primrose had not taken these books because they had been thick and heavy- something Aunt Petunia would have noticed if she had stolen them away into her cupboard. Primrose made a mental note to sell the books that she already had as she flopped back onto the bed.

She would not keep her arms crossed. She had a plan. She decided right then and there that she would try to get that letter of hers. So she sent up her small alarm clock and fell into a quiet sleep, dreams once again full of that lulling voice and sometimes the quickest flash of deep red.

The next morning, with the quietest stealth Primrose shut off her alarm clock, changed her clothes and walked down the hallway to the top of the stairs. And with a quick and practiced, cat-like grace, she made it downstairs, skipping the step that always creaked. The weak pink sunlight of dawn was just barely making its way through the curtains as she made it to the front door. She smiled brightly, she could pull this off. She would be able to go to the corner of the street, meet the postman and get her letter(surely they would write again if they had been so eager to know where she slept). She could see what all the fuss was about! She opened the front door, humming under her breath, clearly thinking that the Dursleys couldn't possibly hear her now.

As Primrose stepped onto the front porch, she found out how very wrong she was. She yelped back in surprised at how the usually concrete porch had felt, squishy and she just knew that the grunt that had escaped the porch was not normal. With a gasp of horror, she couldn't help but gape at the fact that she had just stepped on her Uncle's face. He, all together, was not pleased. With bellowed out shouts at her back, Primrose quickly went to get tea for her agitated uncle, pursing her lips at the red mark that her trainer had left on her uncle's large face.

She came back, only to feel her heart sink at the sight of her Uncle ripping the new letter, and a vicious smirk on his face as the torn pieces of parchment fluttered to the floor. Primrose then had a feeling.

A feeling that a lot of parchment was going to be wasted very soon.

Primrose, not surprisingly was very correct. The amount of parchment that was wasted over the next week was innumerable. Countless letters made their way to Privet drive and each time they were found, in dozens of creative ways that only further fuelled the anger of Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia seemed to be in a state of shock. Primrose saw that she refused to look at her most of the time and the few times she did would only just squint her blue eyes and chew vigorously at her lower lip.

"Who even wants to write to you so badly?" complained Delilah one day, fixing her hair and dress for what seemed like the fifth time as her father went on a rampage through the house trying to find the letters that seemed to pop up everywhere.

Ever since the start of the letters, none of her friends were allowed back to the house and as a result, Delilah only had Primrose to speak to. Much to both of their's displeasure. But, as she was rather chatty… She did talk.

Much to Primrose's own exasperation.

"I haven't the faintest idea," answered Primrose honestly, sighing as she tried to fix her own hair and straightening her smudged dress(she had been in the middle of cleaning the chimney when she had found a letter rolled around a log, much to her Aunt's displeasure, who had started screeching at the top of her lungs when Primrose tried to hide it in her dress pocket).

"Well, tell them to stop!" said her cousin, ignoring her words altogether, "I haven't seen Penney or Diva for weeks and they'll all hate me because of your freakishness!"

Primrose sighed, tugging her dress carefully.

"Who would I tell? I don't know who's sending them."

Her cousin pursed her lips and flipped her lovely hair.

"You're useless!"

Primrose only rolled her eyes as her cousin stomped off.

It wasn't until Sunday that anything really changed at all in the routine of the letters being found and being promptly destroyed, with a viciousness that was honestly impressive. Her Uncle Vernon was beside himself with glee. He kept giggling at odd moments, causing Aunt Petunia to come out of her state of shock and look at her husband strangely. Delilah was sulking, because she had lost her second bedroom or her 'treasure' room, her friends in the course of just one week and it left her in a foul mood. It only further angered her that her parents didn't care about her since they ignored her pleas for her room back.

She glared at Primrose as she passed out the afternoon tea, as always being _perfect_. Not dropping anything and preparing the tea, just as her mummy had asked of it. Primrose could never do wrong, thought Delilah with a hot stab of jealousy. She had wonderful marks, was _skinny_ , pretty and even worse, kind. Delilah hated her cousin, and hated her even more for being all the things she couldn't be, or have. She felt a smirk come onto her face at the thought that at least she had friends(not that she had seen them much because of the freak!) and parents. With a triumphant sneer, she snatched a biscuit from the tray that her cousin was passing around. She did give a spare glance to her daddy when he giggled and spoke to the room at large:

"No post on Sundays. No damn letters today-" he was interrupted as something came shooting out of the chimney, like a bullet and smacked him in the face with audible, deep sound.

Delilah couldn't help but gape in horror, as she watched her father's face turn an alarming shade of blue. Chaos exploded in the parlor as hundreds of letters erupted from the chimney, the Dursleys screaming as the letters whizzed by, hitting the walls and ricocheting with a deadly speed. Primrose only laughed with delight, plucking a letter out of the air nimbly with her small hands. Then, she started to dance among the confetti-like letters, spinning and twisting with victory, the letter firmly clenched in her fingers.

The euphoria of _finally_ getting her letter faded as she caught her Uncle's face and as he all but charged at her, catching her round her waist sharply, making her fingers slip around the letter. She let out a shriek of dismay as the letter dropped to the already covered floor because her Uncle had lifted her over his shoulder, the movement breaking her already weak grasp. With a bellowed yell, her Uncle moved his family out of the still filling parlor, he then closed the door with a hard slam, making the wood of the door crack a little. He dropped his niece harshly on the floor, towering over her as he pulled out large bunches of his large, thick mustache. His voice was deadly calm as he spoke, contrasting greatly with the wild look, and the half missing mustache:

"That does it. I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. NO ARGUMENTS."

His wife and child meekly did what he asked, scurrying up the stairs. Primrose glared up at her Uncle, emerald eyes blazing with fire as she stood up and headed towards the parlor door. She only stopped as she caught her Uncle's deadly expression and for the first time ever, Primrose feared for her physical being. The look on her Uncle's face could only be described as murderous and she caught his clenched fist lifting slightly, jerking as if he was about to use it.

She dashed up the stairs without a word, face pale as she quickly gathered her things in her second hand, but decent school bag, including all the clothes she could cram in, her portable sewing things, her favorite book(a collection of fairytales from around the world) and all of the things that were truly dear to her, because she couldn't bear leave them behind, for who knows how long; A thick, blank diary full of pressed flowers that Primrose had painfully gathered throughout her life, her very first doll(a small, crude dog), a small buck and deer plush toy that were the best she had ever made(small, delicate things made from actual white silk that she had saved up for nearly a year to get and embroidered with flowers, ivy, and small glass beads) and a small bracelet, a simple little thing of silver, with emerald green inlaid glass and the most beautiful white lily carved delicately of glass as well.

Primrose had found the bracelet in a small box, that had been covered with inches of dust, the once bright paper wrapping had faded and the scribbled note had as well. Only three words:

 _Happy Birthday._

 _~Tuney._

She had taken it, after showing it to her Aunt, who had looked at it, face pinched and red and said to throw it away. Primrose tucked all of her things into her school bag, wrapping her clothes around them to hide them from her Uncle and dashed downstairs with her heart still hammering.

Five minutes later she was in her Uncle's car, sitting beside Delilah, who sobbed and rubbed her left cheek, where her father had slapped her for trying to sneak out her enormous doll make-up kit and a television set with her suitcase full of clothes. Primrose had gaped at his violent, fierce action against Delilah, then grabbed her wailing cousin by the wrist and pushed her into the car before she should anger her father even further. Strangely, despite the fact that Deliah glared at her every few seconds, her cousin gripped her hand tightly as her father started the car, visibly shaking. Aunt Petunia sat in front, fish eyes glazed, staring straight ahead, without seeing anything as her husband drove on. And on.

It seemed that her Uncle drove for a thousand kilometers.

He even drove straight through all of the next days, ignoring the plentiful hotels and restaurants that Delilah looked at longingly. She seemed to have nothing to do, while Primrose entertained herself through the soft, quiet humming of the song that was still stuck in her head and her book or sewing. Delilah couldn't even bring herself to talk, only huddled in the corner of the car staring forward with a curious, tight expression. They only ever stopped when the car was nearly out of gas. Though, the ride wasn't just a straight line, because every so often Uncle Vernon would swerve sharply out of the direction he was going in and run in the opposite one for a few hours. He would mutter, each time:

"Shake 'em off. Shake 'em off."

Uncle Vernon finally seemed to lose his steam late that evening, and he pulled the now mud-splattered car into the parking lot of a dingy hotel. The mud had come courtesy of a 'small' detour of a countryside pass. That 'small' detour had been five hours long and left everyone sore from the dips and potholes of the dirt road, which had turned to mud as the clouds let water pour from the dark clouds that had gathered throughout the day. The hotel didn't seem to be the best, as the building was a small, droopy and the gaudy yellow paint was peeling everywhere, revealing the gloomy gray stone below it and some of the letters didn't even seem to work in the sickly yellow neon sign because it said:

 **AILV W HOTEL**

Primrose was fairly sure that was not the name of the hotel and squinted at the sign to try and make out the rest. She glanced at her cousin's wrist, seeing that the time was 11:30 pm on the gaudily bright pink watch. With a jolt, Primrose realized that she would be eleven in thirty minutes time. She marveled at this as she hummed, ignoring the tired and irritated looks her family sent her for being able to function at this time of night. None of them had ever been up past eight in most of their lives, yet Primrose was there humming softly, emerald eyes bright with no sign of tiredness at all. It wasn't really her fault that she was an insomniac. Her family should try sitting through one of her green light nightmares, see how long they would stay asleep against that cold laugh. Or have a sudden order from Ms. Figg around holidays where people would want her cloth dolls and her patchwork stuffed animals, the last minute rush order for those parents who had been negligent during Yule time.

Her Uncle ordered two rooms (reluctantly accepting the second room would have twin beds for 'your two lovely children') and Primrose soon found herself in a dark, small and dingy room. Delilah collapsed on one of the rickety twin beds at once and Primrose tried to follow suit, but the damp, musky sheets made that hard, along with Delilah's impossibly loud snoring. With a small glare toward her cousin, Primrose decided to sleep in the front lobby, as she wasn't quite sure she could brave sleeping in the loo instead(the tub looked alright but she wasn't too keen in case something dark and ugly came crawling about). As she quietly shut the room door behind her, she started to hum again, softly to herself, still not knowing what the name of the song was. When she sat down on one of the lumpy sofas of the hotel lobby, eyes tired as she found herself wondering where she had heard that song. She sank into the couch, sighing. She didn't feel tired, not at that moment, and she regretted not thinking of bringing her things from the room to work on something...

She barely noticed someone walking in the front door, looking up absently at the shabbily dressed man before she turned back to stare at the clock, counting down the time until she was eleven.

Remus John Lupin, wizard extraordinaire, werewolf and ever infamous Marauder was tired. Or really past tired and was terribly exhausted. He was about to fall over and collapse from the amount of exhaustion that he felt, really. The full moon had been weeks ago, but he had just spent the entire day laboring construction, one of the few jobs he could manage to get that was flexible enough around his 'furry little problem'. Of course, since it was of the Muggle variety, he had to work with his back and own hands, rather than to lift his wand and do the heavy lifting in that manner. He looked up at the small dingy hotel that was really the only thing available in the outskirts of London on such short notice, not to mention, the only one he could really afford.

The sign wasn't even working properly, he knew for a fact, because of a prior stay that this miserable little hotel was named Railview, not Ailv W. He hated the fact that he had visited this terrible hotel before and he remembered the musky, damp sheets, along with the over-zealously flirtatious woman at the front desk, not to mention the awful breakfast that the hotel had given free of charge the next morning. But it was what he needed, he couldn't risk apparating to his flat, not as tired as he was and the foreman had demanded he stay close by in the event he found a new job open to him( _'You're a good worker, mate, bit of an odd duck but I happen to like you. I'll find a new job for you, just stay close, alright?'_ ). With a long sigh, he walked into the lobby, slipping his wand into the scruffy pocket he had sewn himself into the sleeve of his long overcoat. He calmly walked up to the front desk, ordered a room and ignored the flirty woman that was all but throwing herself at him. Again.

He turned around to head to his room, intent on sleeping for hours on end, only to stop as he heard something hit his sensitive ears. It was a soft, distinctive song that he could never forget, because why would he forget the song that had been the favorite to someone that was very dear to him? His head swiveled in the direction of the sweet humming voice that was right there in the lobby with him. He could only feel surprised as he caught sight of the hummer of the song. It was a little girl sitting one of the many couches, slumped over an arm, swinging her pale legs back and forth, making the faded fabric of her dark skirt swing with them. A little girl, he reflected that looked no more than seven or eight years old. She was a tiny, little thing he thought and the blue dress she wore emphasized it by how small it was in structure. Her back was facing him, and he saw that she had a wild mop of raven hair that reminded him of James Potter, all the way to her frightfully small waist and he felt a pleasant wave of nostalgia as he thought of all the times he had ruffled his best friend's, really his brother in everything but blood, hair. He also remembered that he had ruffled it himself, trying to get Lily, his future wife, to notice him. Never worked, he thought with a soft chuckle.

He started to head to his room again, trying to squash down the curiosity that he had filled him because he never really saw children humming Beatles songs. He only stopped as he heard the girl's quiet and sweet voice sing a few of the song's lines.

" _I look at you... All see the love, there that's sleeping... While...My guitar gently weeps..._ " she sang, voice soft and hesitant.

The girl paused at times, seeming not to know all the words. Remus found himself filled with even more curiosity at the fact that she was now singing the song. Her voice, he reflected wasn't awe-inspiring, but it was quite pretty nonetheless. Just like, he thought with a fond smile, Lily's voice had been. Sweet, lulling, but not at all perfect, out of tune some of the time, but then again, Lily had never been too serious about singing. His dear friend had always been frightfully focused and intent whenever she was truly serious about any skill. Not being able to stand more of it and ignoring the chime of the clock striking midnight somewhere in the room, he went around the girl to ask her where she had heard the song, and what she was doing here all alone in this place.

He had the shock of his life as he saw her pale face.

His mind screamed Lily even as the blood drained from his face. It screamed in delight and surprise at the sight of the girl that he had been to school with. It quickly faded as he noticed the sharp differences that this little girl had with his dear friend, a sister to him really. For one, she had the wild mop of raven hair instead of the deep red locks and he noticed with distaste that the girl's face was slightly too skinny to compared to what Lily's face had been. But, that really was where the differences ended, the girl was the spitting image of Lily Potter, nee Evans. He felt himself flinch ever so slightly as the girl looked up at him, stopping her song, flushing a soft pink at being listened too and gazing at him with her large, almost too large for her face, emerald eyes.

 _She has Lily's eyes._

"Hello, sir," she said spoke, carefully, well pronounced and with a demure dip of her head. She had stood quickly. Stood straight and with a small, polite smile past the faint spot of pink in her cheeks.

He responded slowly, shock still in him as he compared the girl's eyes with Lily's. They were far larger than he ever remembered Lily's to be. But they were the same shape, and color as hers.

"Hello, there."

The girl didn't say another word, looking at him expectantly. It seemed as if she thought he had more to say. She blinked and kept on with that polite little smile. It didn't seem to reach her large eyes at all.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you poppet, but why are you singing that song?" he said this as gently as he could, in hopes that he would not frighten the girl. She seemed to be the jumpy type.

To his horror, she seemed to read him completely wrong, she blushed, if that was even possible, darker, and spluttered out:

"I'm sorry! I'll stop! I promise! I'll stop singing, I promise sir!" she said this all in one breath, eyes wide. He saw that she straightened out, even more, standing perfectly straight and in a way he knew must've bothered her.

He lifted his hands in surrender, his own golden eyes wide.

"Whoa there. I didn't mean for you to stop, I meant to ask you _why_ you were singing a Beetles' song, you-" he spoke this calmly, trying put her at ease, but he was surprised when she interrupted him.

"It's a Beatles song?" she blurted this out a smile tugging onto her lips.

Unable to resist, he smiled too, a tired one, but he did smile. She had a lovely smile when it reaches her eyes, made them bright and expressive.

"Yes. Beatles. Didn't you know that?"

She shook her head wildly, her raven hair getting even messier as she denied. She quickly pushed her hair back, pushing it down in quick movements before tying it back with a thick red ribbon. She looked a bit sad as she continued, she straight shoulders dropping down slightly.

"I don't even know the name of the song, sir. I don't even know where I heard it," she said this softly, a small frown marring her face before she squashed it away, settling instead on a carefully neutral expression.

Hating to see that oddly blank face, he touched the tip of her nose and smiled tiredly at her. She blinked rapidly at the action, a surprised smile creeping on her stiffly pleasant face. It made her seem, if possible, younger, like the child she was.

"While My Guitar Gently Weeps," he said sadly, thinking of the woman that had always sung it around her home, cooeing it to her child, dancing with her in her arms.

A child he thought, that would surely be heading off to Hogwarts this year. His mind wandered to the chime of the clock and with a shock, he realized that Primrose Potter was now eleven years old. She was probably in her bedroom at the moment, snug asleep, eagerly waiting for her birthday party in the morning and was surely was excited beyond excitement for September the first. He felt like a coward, what good did his Gryffindor courage do if he couldn't even bear to look in on the child that his dearest friends sacrificed their lives to see alive and well? How had the girl grown up? Had she been spoiled? He hoped she had. Looking down at the child in front of him he couldn't help but think that this little girl could be Primrose's younger sister, or maybe Primrose herself, at a much younger age. He has torn away from his thoughts as the girl spoke up.

"So that's the name," whispered the girl, eyes far away. She pushed back a stubborn lock of her messy hair, absently, before she clasped her hands behind her back again.

"You honestly didn't know?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows at her.

The girl flushed, shaking her head and whispering out, "My family doesn't like music all that much. And I only ever heard this song in a dream. At least, I think it was a dream," her brows furrowed slightly, "I haven't the faintest idea, sir."

"In a dream?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

Remus had long ago sat across from her in another one of the sofas- terribly lumpy thing with a spring on his back- and was sitting face to face with the girl. Once he had sat the girl had followed suit at his prompting. He noticed that he wasn't as tired as he thought he had been because he was speaking with the girl without nodding off. The girl nodded and tugged once again at the lock of hair.

"It was one of my wicked dreams," she said this with a smile, her eyes sparkling with a warmth. It was a good smile, not at all stiff like the one she had greeted him with at first.

"Oh really now? How wicked was this dream, poppet?" he asked, the small endearment slipping past his tongue easily. She was such a young child after all...

Her tentative smile widened hugely and he noticed that all her teeth were perfectly straight and white. How odd for a seven-year or so year-old he thought because he remembered at that age to not have all his teeth. And the girl spoke clearly too, intelligently, held herself very properly and primly. She acted differently than any seven-year-old he had met before. Not that he had met many children at all, of course.

"One of my wickedest! Someone is singing the song and I feel warm and safe. Sometimes, I see flashes of deep red. I like to imagine it's my mother singing this to me," she said this all with a smile that faded as she spoke of her mother.

He spoke gently to her as he asked the next question, "She doesn't sing to you much, does she?"

Her demeanor changed as she seemed to cave in on herself. Her face flushed, her head bowed and she started to tug on her lock of her hair ceaselessly. She seemed to catch herself and pushed her hand behind her back, straightening her spine quickly. He felt rather sad and surprised at the control she seemed to have over her emotions. Seemed a bit much for someone so young.

"I don't have a mother. Or a father, they died when I was really young. I can't remember their faces. And I don't know their names, sir," she said this all this with a blank face, the slight slump of her shoulders the only indication that she was upset about what she was saying.

Primrose came to mind again. She was orphaned, just like this little muggle girl. It was astonishing how similar these little girls were. A thought occurred to him, and he felt horror fill him. Surely not?

 _It couldn't possibly be._

"Remus Lupin," he said this calmly, but inside he was trembling as he held out his hand in front of the little girl.

Smiling, this time with a little light in her large emerald eyes, the girl took his large scarred hand with her small pale one.

"Primrose Potter," she said firmly, curiosity filling her why the man, Mister Lupin had introduced himself so abruptly.

He seemed to be a nice man, reflected Primrose. Young, looking to be in his early thirties and she had a feeling that he had had a hard life. How could she think otherwise as she saw the off looking silver hairs that streaked in his light brown hair? Or the small, barely noticeable scars that streaked across his young, tired and sickly looking face? Not to mention the well abused long overcoat he wore, that was fraying and had one or two patches. In her own eyes, she could see how that could be fixed, as well as the frays… She had done so many repairs by herself over her own clothes. His entire demeanor was kind, his hoarse words well spoken, with the air of a man that had been well educated. In his golden eyes, she saw kindness, especially since he had taken the time to talk to the young girl sitting in the lobby at such an insane hour of the night.

"Primrose, is your name, poppet? Primrose Potter? How old are you?" Remus asked this all quickly, gazing at the girl in front of him with millions of emotions running through him. Primrose wasn't exactly a common name- though Potter was- but the chances of him meeting her...

Primrose cocked her head and Remus saw her hands move up to wipe away her overly long bangs, that had fallen into her eyes. He could only stare on at her as the movement revealed something that nearly every one of the wizarding world knew of. There on her otherwise unmarked forehead was a scar. A thin scar, like lightning, just above her left eyebrow. _The wand movement of the Avada Kedavra,_ some small bit of his mind thought. Red, almost as if it wasn't done healing, no matter the fact that nearly ten years had passed. Remus could only gape at Primrose as she spoke.

"I'm eleven," she said in that careful way of her's, she looked at the old grandfather clock in the lobby, blinking rapidly, "In fact, I just turned eleven a few minutes ago."

Remus was dumbfounded. He had been talking to the girl that was the daughter of his family, a girl that should have been his niece in everything but blood, a girl that was the savior of the wizarding world like nothing! A girl that was now staring at him with open curiosity. A girl he thought with a cold shock, that had no idea who her parents were and if he guessed right she didn't even _know_ what she was.

He could only hoarsely whisper out, "Happy Birthday, poppet."

She rewarded him with a soft smile, large emerald sparkling with a pleasing warmth that shown very bright, a contrast to her politeness.

"Thank you, Mister Lupin," she said this shyly, bowing her head, allowing her bangs to swing forward and cover her face, which had gained a slight pink cast.

With another shock, Remus realized that he was the one that had to explain it all to her. All of the story, everything that had caused her to be orphaned. But, he realized with a grim pleasure, he was also the one that was going to confront her family about the fact that Primrose Potter didn't even know the truth about herself, who she was to the wizarding world, and even more importantly, who she was _._

 _Oh, bloody hell_ , Remus couldn't help but think.

"You're very welcome, Primrose," he said and his voice felt thick at saying her name, he particularly stumbled over it in a way he hadn't stumbled since he was a small child, " Now, can I ask you a question?"

Remus was actively trying with all his willpower not to blurt out everything to her in one fell swoop. It was a close thing, now that he knew, he could just see the familiarity of James and Lily in her face, in her delicate features. He had seen it before of course, but it was quite different to know, he couldn't dismiss it as easily now.

With Primrose's nod, Remus continued speaking, taking a deep breath:

"Have you gotten the letter?"

Remus waited for Primrose's reaction, hoping against hope that the girl at least had gotten her Hogwarts letter. He watched as Primrose's eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in surprise. She bewilderingly shouted out:

"Did you send me all those letters? Do you have one with you? I've haven't gotten to read them at all, My Uncle Vernon keeps taking them away!"

Remus looked on at the suddenly excited child with a blink. This was the closest he had seen the politeness go away in her, watching as she launched forward to grip his arm with pleading eyes. He wanted to slam his head against the wall, repeatedly. Maybe if he hit his head with enough force, he could collapse. Someone else could explain it... Or something like that. He looked down at Primrose and realized that he was exhausted again. With a sigh, he spoke to her.

"Poppet, no, I did not send the letters. I _know_ who did. And before you ask, I tell you in the morning. Say around six? I'm very tired at the moment, I've had an extremely long day. Is that alright?"

Primrose felt disappointment fill her, but she nodded nonetheless. She was _finally_ going to know what the letter said. That piece of knowledge was enough to last her until the next morning. Besides, she knew that she was exhausted and by the look on Mister Lupin's face, he was even more tired than she felt. She pulled away from him, apologized for gripping his arm so tightly. As she smiled up at the tall, spindly man, he sent her a tired smile of his own. With a quick bid good night, both she and Mister Lupin went to their rooms, both feeling anticipation for the next morning.

 **OOOOOOOOOO**

Remus woke up to the weak morning sunlight and with a rather sore back. He glared at the offensive lumpy bed and at the damp, musky sheets. It wasn't the best way for him to start the day, but he felt that this was as good as it was going to get for him, at least in this bloody hotel, he thought with a snarl. He was _not_ the best person in the morning and the task set out for him today was not helping his mood. He dressed quickly and closed the door of his room with a satisfying snap.

He vowed never to see that room again.

With a sigh, he chose to visit the front desk before his little chat with Primrose and her 'family', he wanted to turn in his room key. To his surprise, the front desk was being minded by a different person from last night, a frantic woman, who at the moment was trying to keep hundreds of letters from falling off the desk. She looked near tears, and her messy brown hair had escaped her bun, giving Remus the impression that she had been juggling with the letters for quite some time. As he walked up to her, her blue eyes seemed to be filled with hope.

"'Excuse me, sir. You know who this Miss Primrose D. Potter be? I got a hundred of theses on me desk," she said it desperately, her pale face begging him to take the letters off her desk.

Taking pity, he nodded quickly and took only two of the letters off the desk. One he kept in his hand, the other he tucked into his pocket. He had a feeling there was going to be trouble, and he wanted to keep an extra letter in case he needed it.

"You may throw the rest in the rubbish bin, I only need two," he said this as kindly as he could to the woman, who only let out a wail of dismay at the fact that she had to get rid of the rest.

With a sympathetic smile and a quick turning in of his key, he rushed off to the breakfast room. As he arrived, he couldn't help but feel nervous. He was going to be the one to tell Primrose everything. And that she wasn't safe- He really didn't think Voldemort was gone, he knew it in his bones, after all, he had seen him once, and he knew that that man had gone beyond being human. It terrified him that the little girl he had met last night might have to face him. To face those wild, cunning red eyes…

He survived the empty room and caught sight of Primrose, along with the only other people in the room. Primrose had changed into a red dress, which he thought looked a little nicer than the faded dress she had worn last night. She had also braved a shower and Remus hoped she had gotten one of the better bathrooms of the hotel. The three people sitting around her looked nothing at all like her, but he assumed that they were her relatives. There was a big beefy man, whom he didn't recognize and also a fat young girl that was around Primrose's age. The only one he did recognize was Primrose's Aunt. He vaguely remembered the latter from Lily and James' wedding day, the only day he had ever met the woman. Neither Lily, nor Primrose shared much resemblance to her, save their willowy frame, and their pallor. Remus couldn't help but thank Merlin quickly in his mind because he was fairly sure that neither Lily nor Primrose would have looked good as a horse.

At that moment Primrose looked up, her brilliant emerald eyes catching his own golden ones. Her small hand rose up and she waved at him frantically to come over, her eyes sliding to the pieces of parchment he held tightly in his scarred hand. Remus felt himself unconsciously swallow as her family looked over at him as well. The young girl merely spared him a glance, before returning to her breakfast of toast, and cold tin tomatoes. Primrose's Aunt gazed lingered on him, nose wrinkling in disgust as she took on his shabby clothes. Her Uncle, he reflected simply looked furiously between, him, Primrose, and the letter he had clutched in his hand. Remus walked over and stood awkwardly next to the family. Primrose broke the tense silence that had descended upon them, with a quick smile, and a few soft spoken words:

"Uncle Vernon, Delilah, Aunt Petunia, may I introduce Mister Remus Lupin. He is going to give me my letter."

"I've met your Aunt before, poppet. It's nice to see you again Petunia," was all he could say as the Uncle, Vernon, steadily got a darker shade of scarlet.

The now shockingly pale woman could only nod briskly at him, her lips pursed in distaste. He could see in her fish colored eyes a flicker of recognition. As he looked back at Primrose, he saw curiosity fill her features.

"Where have you two met before?" spoke up Delilah, eyes finally removing themselves from her now empty plate to the strange man that knew her mummy.

"At Primrose's parent's wedding. She was the maid of honor, I was one of the groomsmen," he said it kindly to the large girl.

Her brows furrowed.

"I thought Primrose was born out of wedlock?"

He blinked.

"No. I can safely say that she was born after her parents were married."

"You knew my parents?" blurted out Primrose suddenly, eyes bright.

Remus nodded, took a breath to steady himself.

"I was one of your father's best friends. He was like a brother to me. And your mother was like a sister. I'm sorry I didn't tell you last night, I was a little overwhelmed to see you. I-... I last saw you when you were so small. You've grown loads poppet. You look so much like your mother, but you have your father's wild mop of hair, that's for sure," he said, voice a bit hoarser than normal.

Primrose stared in shock as she took in Mister Lupin's slightly misty eyes. She looked like her mother. She had never known that and she had her father's hair. It was becoming too much for her, tears gathered in her eyes, but she refused to let them go. She still had much to discover and she had a feeling that this was the least important thing she was going to learn on her birthday, which already was starting to be the best one she had ever experienced.

Hoarsely, she asked, "What were their names?"

She saw Mister Lupin swallow and he spoke softly, fondly, "Lily and James Potter, poppet."

She still refused to cry. With a shaky nod, she took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Her moment of happiness was marred as soon as her Uncle opened his big fat mouth, "SO. You're one of their crowd, eh? Stay away from my family! YOU will not be telling the brat a word more. Go off with your freakishness! Go on!"

Uncle Vernon stood up glaring up at Remus, not noticing at all like Primrose that Mister Lupin was a great deal taller than him, or the way his body tensed. Primrose had the feeling that Mister Lupin had power behind his wiry frame and that Uncle Vernon had no idea what he was getting into. She could tell by the way he walked, graceful and controlled in a way that even Uncle Vernon, the former rugby player didn't have.

"I'm not leaving. I'm going to tell Primrose what should have been told to her a long time ago. Primrose, poppet, has anything strange, or unexplained ever happen to you?" he said it kindly, not taking his eyes off of her.

Primrose was thrown into her memories, things that she could never explain, things that only happened to her, things that she always had the feeling were caused by her. With a slow nod, she waited for Mister Lupin to further explain.

"Good. Well, all those things happened when you very angry or sad right?" at her nod he continued, "There is a very simple explanation for it, poppet you're a-" he was interrupted by a loud bellow from her Uncle Vernon.

"STOP! I DEMAND YOU NOT TO TELL HER ANOTHER WORD!"

Her Uncle looked furious, his face contorted into what to Remus thought, looked like a bellowing walrus. It was rather comical, watching him get flustered, but Remus really had no time to waste on the trivial things, like Primrose's Uncle. So, he ignored the shout and opened his mouth to tell Primrose what she was. Her Uncle just had to be difficult though. With a strangled yell, Uncle Vernon charged at Remus, not unlike the way he had charged at Primrose in the parlor. But unlike Primrose, Remus had faster reflexes. He nimbly dodged out of the way, causing the large man to fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Remus ignored the cries of:

"DADDY!" and "VERNON!"

He spoke with exasperation, shooting a look of shock toward Primrose, "Oh for goodness sake! Primrose, you're a witch!"

Primrose froze. The first thing that came to her mind blurted out of her mouth, "That's not a very nice thing to say!"

Petunia, who had gotten up to tend to her fallen husband, whipped around in shock, once again causing her husband to fall back to the ground with a heavy thud. Primrose had reacted the same way that Lily had when that damn Snape boy had told her. She glared at the man, Remus, for making her relive one of the most painful memories of her life. The one that had caused so much strife between her and her sister. She ignored the small whisper of her conscience that was saying just how much Primrose really was like Lily.

To Primrose's surprise, Mister Lupin merely chuckled. He looked down at her, golden eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Is that so, poppet? Well, why don't you read your letter before you naysay anything?"

With a flourish, Remus handed her the letter, eager to see her reaction. She didn't disappoint, her eyes sparkled, and she eagerly tore it open. Primrose's eyes snapped hungrily to the letter and read the words that she had been longing to see:

 _Dear Miss. Primrose D. Potter,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all the necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall,_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

Primrose couldn't help but gape at the letter, and then at Mister Lupin. This was completely insane! How on Earth was she a witch? How had she never noticed this before if she was one? Why had her life had been so horrible if all this time she had something as wonderful as magic inside her? There had to be a mistake. Magic wasn't even real, hadn't her Uncle and Aunt told her all her life this? Magic was only the stuff of fantasy, nothing more... Wasn't it?

"I can see you don't believe me," Mister Lupin said with another chuckle.

Primrose could only nod, mouth closing. She watched with fascination as he flicked his left wrist, sending a something out of his battered sleeve. She felt her jaw drop again at the sight of the gleaming, highly polished piece of wood that was in Mister Lupin's hand. It was very dark, thin, and long, and Mister Lupin held it his hand as if he was used to the weight of it as if it was a part of him. He grinned fondly down at it, eyes sparklingly as if he was greeting an old and dear friend.

"10¼", Cypress, Unicorn hair, pliable-I've had this ever since I was your age poppet, do you know what it is?" asked Mister Lupin, looking at her with clear amusement in his eyes.

"A... A... A magic wand," whispered Primrose, eyes now wide with astonishment at the wand in Mister Lupin's hand. Part of her faintly registered the fact that he had said unicorn hair as if those creatures really existed.

"Do you want proof of magic?'

Primrose nodded, eyes widening ever so slightly as Mister Lupin swished and flicked his wand, pointing it directly at a spare chair. He hoarsely said the words out loud, with ease, as if the odd words he said were common practice:

" _Wingardium Leviosa._ "

With a shock, Primrose saw the chair lifted a few inches off the ground, suspended in midair, with her family staring at the chair, jaws hitting the ground, while she watched with wonderment. Mister Lupin constantly moved the wand, wrists moving up and down in a flick of his wrist and the chair followed the movement. She blinked rapidly, laughing in a startled way as he made it dance across the room, like a ballet, to and for, before he settled it a few feet in front of her. She walked over to it, her common sense claiming it was just a trick, wires, strings were holding up the battered chair. But, when she got to the chair, she felt all around, feeling nothing around the chair, and only feeling the hairs on the back of her neck raise slightly.

"Wicked!" she breathed, laughing at the sheer amazing display.

"Believe me now, poppet? You'll able to do that as well, once you've trained up a bit at Hogwarts... You'll be fantastic at it, just you wait, your father and mother both very talented at witchcraft and wizardry."

Primrose nodded at Mister Lupin eyes still glued to the floating furniture. She only turned when Mister Lupin started muttering another quick spell:

" _Finite_."

The chair fell down with a loud clatter, and Primrose jumped back, flinching slightly. As she felt her thundering heartbeat, questions exploded into her mind. Her eyes snapped to Mister Lupin, unknowingly pinning him down with her hypnotic stare.

"My parents were witches?" she asked in a small voice.

Mister Lupin nodded at her, speaking again in a hoarser voice than normal, 'Yes. Though, for your father, he would be considered a wizard... Anyway, they were both the top of the class, Head Boy and Girl, and definitely the most talented couple of people that I've ever had the privilege to meet."

Primrose took in the information in silence. Her parents had been magical. A thought bloomed in her head, and she felt her stomach drop. She had never believed the story her Aunt had told her, and it was now the time to see if she had been telling the truth to her all these years.

"They didn't die in a car crash, did they?" she asked as quietly as possible.

Remus felt his stomach turn at the indication that Lily and James Potter had died in a mere car crash. It was an outrage, a scandal! Every single magical child knew Primrose's story. She was famous throughout the magical world, yet here she was, not even knowing her own story. It made Remus want to hit something. Or someone.

"They didn't," was all he could respond to the girl, eyes grave.

She took the news in silence. Her eyes blazed with an anger that made Remus want to step back at the mere intensity, which was decidedly odd for a child that age. Primrose herself took a deep breath, taking a fleeting glance at her family, all who were wearing identical masks of shock, and horror. She tore her eyes away from them, looking back at the man who had unknowingly given her the best birthday present of all her life, her parent's names.

"What happened to them?" she asked it softly, so softly that even Remus' sensitive ears could barely pick up the words.

He felt his mouth grow dry and he blinked at the girl rapidly, trying to stop the tears in his eyes. He admitted to himself that he felt like a poof for being this emotional, but that he couldn't really help it. This was _Primrose Dorea Potter,_ of all people, asking to know what had happened to her parents. His dearest friends. The only people he ever really would call friends for the rest of his life. He swallowed thickly, trying to dislodge the large lump in his throat as he looked down at the trembling little girl before him. He found that he simply couldn't be the one to tell her, he _couldn't_.

"Poppet... I... I... not the best person to... It… not my place-" he was interrupted from his hoarse stammers by the loud STOMP.

Primrose had slammed her foot down, her battered trainers producing such a loud noise that she even jumped at it. She was looking up at Remus, her large emerald eyes alight with flames, and her face pale as a sheet.

"It's not your place? IT'S NOT YOUR PLACE? Didn't you say that they were your dearest friends? Like brother and sister?" asked Primrose, trembling with rage.

Again, Remus swallowed and nodded slightly shell shocked at the girl. Somewhere in his mind, it occurred to him that she had Lily's temper. The girl took a deep breath, suddenly calm, her voice once again soft as she spoke to him:

"Then, please... Please tell me what happened to them. Please tell me why they're not _here_..."

Primrose ignored how her voice had cracked and the tears that once again were gathering in her eyes. She simply kept looking on at Mister Lupin, hoping, praying that he would say something. Remus was as silent as the grave, simply looking at Primrose. He then sighed very softly, lifting his hand to run through his ragged brown hair, a habit of frustration he had picked up in his Hogwarts days. His golden eyes closed for the briefest of seconds, which was all it took for his mind to summon the images of two dear, dear people, who nodded in his head as if to tell him to go on. He opened his eyes, and looked at the daughter of those dear people again, and heard his voice speak the words that he thought would never have to be spoken by him:

"Primrose... There are many types of wizards and witches; in fact, many types of people. They can be good, they can be bad. They can be both. There are many gray areas in this characteristic. But, there was a man. No, not a man, there wasn't enough humanity in him to consider him a man. But, that man did not fit into the gray areas, he was in fact, the foulest, most monstrous wizard that has ever disgraced the wizarding world. His name was Lord Voldemort."

Remus took a deep breath again, steadying himself as he stared at Primrose, taking in her serious reaction. She asked no questions, like before somehow knowing he had more to say.

"A decade or so ago this wizard was causing one of the worst wars our people have ever been a part of. It was very dark times, poppet, very dark times. He had dozens of followers, some as worse as him, they called themselves the Death Eaters. You couldn't know who was who in those times. You couldn't know who was on which side."

Primrose noticed faintly that Mister Lupin said the end very bitterly, before he continued on, this time saying his words brutally as if he couldn't bear to say it in a very nice way, as what he said wasn't pleasant at all:

"But, then again that's not the point, is it? No, the point is that this wizard appeared on your family's home in Godric's Hollow. And that night your mother and father were killed and he then turned his wand on you, Primrose. I have no idea why. And he tried killing you, Primrose. He tired of killing a- A one-year-old child. But he couldn't, try as he did he couldn't kill you, Primrose. The curse rebounded, and he disappeared that night Primrose. Vanished without a trace, because you survived the curse that killed so many people before, like your parents just before you. You survived without a scratch, save for that scar on your forehead. You're famous you know Primrose, and your parents are as well. You're the Girl Who Lived," said Remus with the saddest of sighs at the end, his tired eyes looking at Primrose.

Who at the moment was a pale as ever humanly possible, trembling, her large emerald eyes full of thick tears, that slipped down her cheeks slowly.

Then, a light a realization filled her eyes, and she whipped around at a frightening speed to look at the Dursleys, her mouth opening in closing for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, until finally, her voice spat out, "You _knew._ You knew about _everything!_ "

The accusation hung in the suddenly silent air, the occupants of the small dining room of the Railview somehow not quite daring to breathe at the fuming girl in their midst. Then, suddenly, Aunt Petunia stepped forward, her chest heaving, her body trembling just like Primrose's and her fish eyes narrowed dangerously at her niece.

"Knew? KNEW? Of course, we knew. How could we not know everything, with that damn letter that you had on you when we took you off our porch step? How could we not know how _special_ you are? Just like my dratted sister! Who came home every holiday, frog spawn in her pockets and turning teacups into rats! Proud, oh how proud my parents were to have a witch in the family! I knew from the _second_ she got that damn letter what she really was, a _FREAK_!" screamed out Aunt Petunia, spitting at both Primrose and Remus.

Again, the dining room fell silent, for the briefest second, while Aunt Petunia caught her breath, now heavily flushed. Soon she got her wind again, and started once again her rant at the two magical beings in the room.

"Oh, and if you please she didn't even have the dignity to leave all us normal, perfectly respectable people alone! No, she had to get herself and that tramp of a husband _blown up_ , and as a result, we got landed with you! And I knew from the second I laid eyes on you that you'd be just the same as her, a true, dratted _freak_!"

Uncle Vernon, still on the floor makes a heavy grunt of agreement, chuckling at his pale, trembling niece's devastated face.

No one noticed the soft growling of Remus, who at that moment put his large scarred hand on Primrose's shoulder, his hoarse voice hissing out through his teet, " _Enough_. I will not tolerate you to destroy my friends' memory, nor Primrose's self-esteem. She is not dratted and she is most definitely not a freak! She is Primrose Potter, a good strong witch that comes from a proud family, from two of the best people I have ever know! So keep those vile lies to yourself!"

Primrose looked up at Mister Lupin with an innocent and awed filled look. Hardly anyone ever stood up for her, and those who did never did it more than once or twice, as often times it ended badly for them, and she remembered vividly that they soon turned into another of her tormentors in the end. She knew that with Mister Lupin, this was not the case. She knew it from the way he was standing, the way he gently held onto her shoulder, yet still firmly, and how his golden eyes were glowing with a protective light. Again, Primrose felt tears in her eyes, but stopped them because she was tired of crying, instead, she smiled at Mister Lupin, if a little timidly.

He smiled tiredly back in return, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze, before talking to her directly, with the utmost seriousness;

"Now Primrose, do you want to go to Hogwarts?"

Remus barely had time to finish his question before Primrose nodded with the utmost enthusiasm, her wild hair even wilder as she beamed up at him. He chuckled slightly at her reaction, remembering how he too had been excited for his time at Hogwarts in the beginning, though he remembered feeling so awed at the fact that he was allowed to go at all, despite his furry little problem, as James had so fondly put it.

"She will _not_ be going," hissed out Uncle Vernon, finally getting up and swelling up like a bullfrog at Remus and Primrose.

Remus merely snorted, giving Uncle Vernon the look of utmost disbelief.

"Do you really think that a great _muggle_ such as yourself would be able to stop Primrose Dorea Potter, the most famous person in the wizarding world from going to Hogwarts? Do you really think that the likes of Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster would allow you to stop her from going?" said Remus, lifting his eyebrow with the utmost scorn, a scowl shaping his lips.

Uncle Vernon was turning a very strange color of puce, a color Primrose thought was not something that was good to both his appearance or his blood pressure.

"SHE'LL NOT BE GOING! I WILL NOT PAY FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" screamed out her Uncle Vernon, his spitting wildly at both her and Mister Lupin.

The second the words left her Uncle's lips, Primrose knew they were the wrong words to say. From the feral look on Mister Lupin's face, she knew that he respected the man that was Albus Dumbledore and that he would never tolerate a bad word to the man. Mister Lupin's all but forgotten wand was suddenly pointed at Uncle Vernon, and he held it straight between his eyes.

"Never. Insult. Albus Dumbledore. At least in my presence, that man gave me more than you could ever imagine, and I will not tolerate any of it. Is that clear?" asked Mister Lupin, with the utmost seriousness.

Be some miracle, Uncle Vernon was not cowered, and he simply lifted his many chins in defiance to Mister Lupin, a sneer curling up at his lips.

"So you really think that a simple little stick will scare me? What a load of tosh! BRAT!" He addressed Primrose suddenly, looking down at her with an even deeper sneer.

Primrose eyes went to her Uncle, a frown on her face.

"Come here. We're leaving this freak. Petunia, Delilah, let's go."

The Dursleys' looked ready to leave and were soon at the door. Primrose did not move a muscle. She simply looked on at the 'picture perfect' family that was supposed to be her's as well. Deep inside her she finally understood, she wanted to be part of them, she wanted nothing more to have their love and attention, to be able to be just another one of the Dursley family. She knew now that it was impossible, she was not, and never could be part of this family as she had longed for all her life. She was too different, and it was very evident that the Dursleys' didn't want anything to do with different. The last bit of faith she had for them faded away, and Primrose sighed slightly at the lost. She still didn't move.

"Well? What's keeping you brat? Get you bloody self over here now, unless you want the stuffing knocked out of you. Get a move on!" screamed out her Uncle, clearly angry.

He made a move forward, his fist already lifted in what she was sure would be the first hit she would ever receive from her Uncle. She braced herself for the hit that was sure to come, only to find herself blinking at the fact that Mister Lupin moved her behind him, his face deadly and fierce, once again pointing his wand at her Uncle. The action is what really cemented her resolve. She walked around her ready protector and looked straight on to her Uncle.

"I'm going to Hogwarts. And you have no say in it at all," she said this softly, in that quiet way of her's, a soft smile of resolve lifting at her lips.

Her Uncle could only spultter angrily at her, as she slipped her hand timidly into Mister Lupin's, who jumped at the contact. For a moment, Primrose thought she had done wrong, before he beamed down at her, making him appear ten years younger. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before he started to lead her to the exit, walking past the gaping Dursley family. For a brief moment, Primrose hopped her supposed family would leave it just as that. Of course, her Uncle Vernon to ruin that hope.

With a bellowing roar, he charged at both her and Mister Lupin, who once again, stepped in front of her and pointed his wand at her Uncle. This time, he simply didn't just lift it. He hoarsely snarled out, " _Levicorpus_ _ **!**_ "

Primrose watched in amazement as her very big Uncle was suddenly lifted into the air, with a force that once again Primrose knew was magic, as the fine hair on her neck and arms lifted as it surged from Mister Lupin, and was conducted through his wand. At the sight of her Uncle dangling suspended in midair by his ankle, his face so furious, and the flabbergasted faces of her Aunt and Delilah, Primrose collapsed in a fit of giggles, clutching for support on Mister Lupin's arm.

Remus too, chuckled at the sight, promising himself that he would release the spell after he had gathered up Primrose's things. With that resolve, he lead the still giggling Primrose away, where after another moment of uncontrollable laughter, lead Remus to the room she and Delilah had shared the night before. She picked up her yellow school bag without a care, and was soon led to the dining room of the Railview Hotel was again, another fit of giggles escaping her at the sight of her still suspended Uncle.

With a finger to his lips, Remus asked Primrose to quiet down, as he wanted to leave without that great walrus attacking him, _again_. She soon quieted down enough for him to point his wand discreetly at her Uncle, whispering out, " _Liberacorpus_."

He fellow down with a thud reminiscent to a cannon firing as he had hit a spare table as he went down, and also with a very loud and rude stream of curses that made Aunt Petunia cover Delilah's ears. Both Remus and Primrose composed themselves long enough to get out of hearing range of the Dursleys', before they burst out into uncontrollable laughter, their faces flushed with mirth as they stepped into the lobby. Their laughter only grew harder at the look of curiosity that the receptionist gave the pair of gave the woman a merry wave with the spare hand, as throughout the whole ordeal they hadn't let go of each others' hand. As the walked out into the July sun, they had no idea that the receptionist thought that they made the most adorable and odd family she had ever seen walk through the doors of the Railveiw Hotel. No, they just held onto each others' hand, not knowing that after ten long years they finally had found the family they had both thought they had lost.


	5. A Friendly & Sobbing Giant

**A Friendly And Sobbing Giant**

Yellow Tulip & General Chrysanthemum

 _There's sunshine in your smile_ & _You're a wonderful friend_

Remus Lupin stole Primrose away, like a thief in the night… Or rather a werewolf in the middle of the morning.

It was recklessly impulsive, really, to get away from the hotel, with no thought at all to what he was doing. He didn't even bother to give notice to the Formen, for he was too eager to escape with the child next to him, too eager to show the girl what she was ignorant of, of the part of herself that had been denied. _To think that Primrose Potter, daughter of Lily and James, would be kept in the dark for ten long years, to think that she would never become a witch as was her right, as Remus as a young child had feared he wouldn't be able too, for being what he was. His parents had the excuse of him being made into a what many would consider a monster, Primrose's Aunt and Uncle had no such excuse, fearful, ignorant of what their niece could be... What Lily had been. A freak indeed, one of the kindest souls he had ever met, hated by someone they had loved so much..._

It was an impulsive move, a rare one nowadays, as the last one struck him ten years ago, James and Peter and _him_ by his side. _They had all gotten pissed drunk, over the fact that James was going to be a father and he had given into the stupid impulse to try and ride Prongs in his stag form, calling out loudly that he was the Lord of the Forest and Peter and Him had nearly pissed themselves at the James attempts to 'buck' him off._ He had always been the cautious one- the rational one. The one that could sort of temper the zealousness of the other three. He was very much the follower and the voice of reason.

He was not one to give into impulses, being _what_ he was.

But he supposed he was as much as a Marauder as James, and _He_ had been- as much as even poor Peter had been. And he was prone to reckless things as much as them. He just was the most level-headed out of all of them. So it always took people by surprise when he did something like this/

But now, he feels him give into an impulse with a giddiness that made him feel twenty-years-old again. Primrose was clutching hand, trusting and so young yet so incredibly grown that made Remus's heart hurt. It was hard to look at her really because her eyes were Lily's- her face was Lily and while he could never claim that Lily Evans had been a lifetime friend like James, she had been dear nonetheless.

And he was first to admit that she was a balm to his more rambunctious friends and they had spent many nights just at ease with the other while the other three idiots went off to do their insanity while they studied. Later it had been the gentle, but fierce way about her and the love she inspired in his best friend… Lily had been their moral light. Their rallying point, not their damsel in distress, but rather their shining lady to their sometimes idiotic Don Quixote.

He wondered faintly, as he sat down on the muggle train, whether or not Lily and James for that matter, would have appreciated him practically kidnapping their daughter away from her relatives. Part of him thought that James would have demanded to buy him a drink in gratitude for the whole stunt with the levitating spell as he had detested his brother-in-law, while Lily would have rolled her eyes and smacked him upside the head for being such an idiot. But mostly….

Mostly Remus couldn't find in it him to care.

Primrose Potter herself, for the first time in her eleven years of life, rode on a train. It moved rather quickly, faster than anything she had ever ridden on and even faster than her Uncle's frantic and rather dangerous driving. It was so quickly in fact that she clutched at Mister Lupin's hand in her nervousness. She was only doing so because he had yet to let go of her hand as they went along their way- she was glad for it. This is the first time that she can remember holding someone's hand and Mister Lupin's is warm, a little rough, but warm. A solid comfort that covers her hand completely.

Mister Lupin, talked to her quietly throughout the whole ride, trying to calm her down, she supposed. He spoke to her of Hogwarts, mostly, and in such a detail and fondness in his lovely golden eyes. Primrose couldn't help but beam at the stories of her father and his time in school, at the sound of the school in a castle. _An enchanted castle for a magical school!_ Their adventures never ceased to make her laugh, and at one point in time of their train ride, he had her in stitches, curled into his side of his tweed coat.

She soon forgot the fast past of the train and focused on him as he painted a vivid picture of a fairy tale like castle above a glittering and endless lake, with a never-ending forest off to her side, full of unicorns and centaurs. _Unicorns are real!_ She gave him a very shy smile as he also spoke about her mother, that he lamented not knowing as well as her father, but saying that she had been a delight to have around, and always had a kind word to say...

"Unless," he had said a little fondly, "If you made her angry. Lily was a spitfire. Could yell so loud and coherently that we could only assume she was a professional at being furious. When she got going, it was best to not listen to any of the words she had to say, because they were never kind or proper at all..."

Primrose's emerald eyes flickered from time to time to the window, as she listened to another wild story about the time her father had transfigured the Charms corridor into cottage cheese and looked as the scenery flew by her. It had been at first as she had noticed, mostly green, but had later colored into the more contemporary colors of gray and various shades of brown that made up the city of London. They soon got off at a rather small station just inside the city, really on the very outskirts, and had to walk a bit to make it to the next station, which would take them to downtown London. The whole mess with the train rides only took about three hours or so, and Primrose, for the first time in her life, found herself in a rather enormous city, taking in the sites with great interest.

It was very odd to see the sheer mass of people and assorted buildings all around her and all of the people around her made her feel nervous, even more than the train ride. Mister Lupin himself, looked a little out of place as if he too was unused to being around so many people. His shoulders were not exactly hunched, but just a bit pinched, and his nose, wrinkled slightly, and his eyes were tight and seemingly sensitive to sunlight. _Still,_ mused Primrose as she walked on with him, holding his large hand so as not to lose him, _he seemed to know where he was going, because he was walking in a rather confidant path, ignoring the rather plentiful stores and various establishments_.

That of course, brought the question to Primrose's mind, _what exactly were they doing in London, and where were they going?_ She looked up to Mister Lupin, feeling her neck get slightly sore, as she had to look a long way up to see his face and voiced out her questions out loud, her voice slightly curious:

"Mister Lupin, what are we doing in London? Oh, and where are we going?"

Remus jumped slightly at the rather unexpected question that came from the girl that held his hand tightly and looked down at Primrose. He paused for the briefest moment, before continuing his pace towards their destination.

"Did you read the second part of your letter?" he asked back to her, a chuckle building up in his voice.

Primrose shook her head, brows furrowed, and without any prompting, she removed her yellow bag from her shoulders, and rummaging through it for a moment, before finding her letter. She quickly flipped to the second part of her letter that she had put away for later, and read it:

 _HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY UNIFORM_

 _First-year students will require:_

 _Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

 _One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_

 _One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

 _One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

 _Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

 _COURSE BOOKS_

 _All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

 _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)by Miranda Goshawk_

 _A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

 _Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

 _A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

 _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

 _Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

 _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

 _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble_

 _OTHER EQUIPMENT_

 _1 wand_

 _1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

 _1 set glass or crystal phials_

 _1 telescope_

 _1 set brass scales_

 _Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad_

 _PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

"Oh... Well, I guess we're getting my supplies then?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

Mister Lupin nodded down at her, still never pausing in his easy and confident stride to wherever he was going. Primrose noted, with interest, that he made a note of her very short legs, and kept a steady, easy pace for her. Primrose's eyes drifted around her for a moment, and then back to the list. She frowned, and thought for a moment, curiosity burning in her before she couldn't hold back any longer. She looked back to Mister Lupin with another frown.

"Mister Lupin, I have to ask, where in London are we going for these supplies? From what I can gather, it's not common for most people to know about our 'kind'. And I really don't think that we can find the things on this list," Primrose lifted the list shaking it a little, before continuing, " In any store in London, at least, none that I can see," she said seriously, a frown on her lips.

Remus stopped and took a long glance at Primrose. _She was intelligent_ , he thought with fondness, _just like both of her parents_. He really didn't think they knew what to expect of her. He certainly had been expecting something like her… But not exactly. This kind and soft-spoken girl was very much like her mother in her kindness and seemingly her temper if the way she had blown up at her relatives was any indication, but he always thought she would take more after her father. So, he, in turn, had expected her to be, for the lack of a better word, a little more arrogant, especially if Petunia was in charge of her upbringing.

But she wasn't. She was quiet, frightfully polite and a bit distant. _Composed_. And somewhat at odds with the personality of both her parents, for Lily and James had been boisterous, charming and vocal. Hardly composed. James had been a bit rude at times and while Lily had been unfailingly polite, she had never kept herself so stiff and formal.

But, he mused as he remembered how she had acted earlier in the dinning area of Railview, she wasn't without a backbone, she like her parents, would always stand firm when it concerned something important to her... Part of him, he had to admit, had always imagined her as the little baby that would snuggle into his chest, or that would always clamp her fingers onto everyone's hair. He tore himself from his reminiscing before he could fall too deep into them, and decided to answer Primrose's questions:

"Primrose, I have to say well, you can really find anything in London if you know where to go... And thankfully I do know where to go, a pub to be exact, called the Leaky Cauldron, that well-... Well, it's across the street, poppet. It's rather famous, you know."

Mister Lupin lifted his spare hand and pointed, and Primrose glanced over. He was pointing at two shops, one was a rather big bookstore and looked to be rather new, the other was an older creation record shop of the 70's complete with what looked to be a disco ball hanging in the window. For a minute, all that Primrose saw was two the shops, but when she blinked, she caught site of a rather dreary looking pub sandwiched in the middle of the two, a swinging old wrought iron sign said, that it was called the Leaky Cauldron, just as Mister Lupin had said. She noticed, with faint surprise, that most people, or really all the people around her didn't seem to see it at all, and as their eyes slide from the big bookshop on one side, to the record shop on the other.

"They can't see it, can they?" she muttered to Mister Lupin, gesturing to the people around her.

Mister Lupin chuckled, seeming strangely pleased with her.

"Most muggles can't see it, it's enchanted that way," he said offhandedly, leading her carefully across the street.

"Muggles?" asked Primrose in a confused tone, brows scrunched up with her confusion.

She had no idea what on Earth that word meant. If she had remembered correctly Mister Lupin had said it before and to her Uncle. Mister Lupin took one look at her and seemed to know what she was asking, and politely defined the odd word.

"Non-magic folk, poppet. It's a rather common term," said Mister Lupin shrugging.

Primrose nodded, wondering at the rather odd language wizards and witches seemed to have. Both she and Mister Lupin entered the pub, and Primrose wondered if she, like the pub disappeared in 'muggle' people's eyes. She pushed away that stray thought and instead focused on her surroundings.

For such a famous place, the Leaky Cauldron was rather dark, not at all dirty Primrose was pleased to note, but a dark place. Little light came in from the small and fogged windows, and the lamps(actual oil lamps!) that spotted the pub were few in number. The place seemed worn, as if it was regularly in use, for Primrose could see how the wooden floors were smoothed down as if by trotting feet and how the chairs were plentiful and comfortable, though they too seemed worn.

A few people dotted the surprisingly large space here and there, in various conversations, some loud and boisterous, others whispered and hushed. They were all interestingly dress, in long cloaks of various colors, some as bright as the sunshine, others as drab and dark as the pub around them, and the hats they wore... It made Primrose want to giggle because most of them had the cliché wide brim, pointed hats that most people _or_ Primrose thought, most muggles thought to be associated with witches.

She remembered her list and grinned, wondering if she wore her own pointed hat and cackled evilly would she be considered a true witch. She turned away from the thought and directed her gaze back to the occupants of the pub, noting with interest that they were all very strange indeed. But one particularly, large and sobbing customer caught her eye, and Primrose found herself looking at the largest man she had ever seen in her life. And as she had seen her own Uncle Vernon, she knew that this man was quite a sight. He looked to be twice as tall as most of the men around him and was around three times as wide.

His enormous hands covered his face, and he sat hunched over, sobbing in the corner of the pub, while a bald old man that looked a little like a toothless walnut rubbed his back, screaming at him over his loud sobbing that he would find her, and that he didn't fail Dumbledore. Primrose kept her gaze at the odd pair, tilting her head to the side and wondering what on Earth was wrong with the poor giant. She hoped that he wasn't harmed and that he would feel better soon.

"Oh Hagrid," muttered Mister Lupin to he left.

Primrose noted with some surprise that Mister Lupin was looking directly at the giant man, brows furrowed and a distinctive light of worry shimmering in his golden eyes. He shook his head and pulled Primrose over to the sobbing giant. Primrose decided that at that moment that this was a time to remain silent as Mister Lupin walked up to the man, taking the place of the walnut man, that nodded gratefully at Mister Lupin. Her hand, now released from Mister Lupin's warm and calloused hand felt a tad cold, and she frowned at the lost, before firmly placing her hands behind her back, and gave the retreating walnut man a spare glance.

He gave Primrose a quick and curious look, a small nod, and an almost toothless smile. Primrose returned the smile and gave the man a timid wave, who in returned it, and walked away, whistling merrily as he reached the bar. When he slipped behind it, Primrose returned her gaze to the men in front of her, and she remained a little distance away from both the men. Preferring to let them speak to each other without her stuck in the middle, because the sobbing giant man needed a friend, and from the way Mister Lupin was looking at him, Primrose could guess that he was that friend.

"There, there Hagrid... What's wrong old friend?" asked Remus, wondering what in the world was wrong with his friend.

Primrose jumped slightly when the giant 'Hagrid' howled like a wounded dog before he looked up, his large face red, small shining black eyes were swollen and puffy. She noted that he had long tangled strands of bushy black hair, as well as a long, chest-length beard before he spoke to Mister Lupin, grabbing at the man's long and dusty coat, with such a force that the tall, skinny man stumbled, and the giant Hagrid pulled him into what looked like a bone-crushing hug. Primrose winced at the sight because it looked that it would really hurt to be hugged by Hagrid. At least, that was what she could tell by glancing at his very large and muscular arms.

"REMUS! REMUS, O' REMUS! I RUDDY FAILED DUMBLEDORE! I LOST HER!" bellowed the giant man, Hagrid dramatically.

Remus somehow managed to escape Hagrid's hug, wincing and wondering wildly if he had broken one of his ribs... _Again_. Unfortunately, Hagrid just simply leaned onto him with a few racking sobs, making Remus sigh softly at the added weight of his friend. He wondered a little dryly if the weight could crush him.

"Who Hagrid?" he half-shouted to him, after a moment of adjusting Hagrid's weight, frustrated that it was hard to talk softly and calmly to Hagrid in such a state.

"PRIMROSE, O' LITTLE PRIM! IT WAS ME JOB TO FIND HER! SHE HASN' GOT HER LETTER! AND THE MUGGLES SAID SHE WAS TAKEN BY A WIZARD! WHAT AM I GOIN' TO DO REMUS? I RUDDY FAILED DUMBLEDORE!" Sobbed Hagrid leaning heavily on Mister Lupin, who seemed to be rather surprised.

Primrose shared that sentiment quite completely and wondered why on earth a giant would be looking for her for the Headmaster of Hogwarts. She shot Mister Lupin a confused look, which was missed because he started laughing, eyes closed in sheer mirth as he laughed harder and harder, his pale face gaining some color, and small bits of tears gathering in his closed eyes. Both Primrose and the giant, Hagrid looked at him with sheer confusion. After another moment of laughter, Mister Lupin finally seemed to have composed himself and looked at Hagrid with the utmost mischief, a crooked smile on his lips.

"Hagrid... Well, I don't know how to say this, but I'm the wizard who took Primrose," said Remus with a snort, just resisting the childish notion of rolling his eyes, but only just.

Hagrid looked completely gobsmacked, eyes wide as he looked at Remus. His mouth hung open rather largely, and Primrose wondered a little dryly if Hagrid could catch a lot of flies like that before she jumped back in huge alarm as Hagrid once again jumped up and grabbed at Mister Lupin's coat. He seemed a great degree calmer, though a slightly hysterical edge entered his beetle black eyes as he shook Mister Lupin, and Primrose once again winced. She could hear Mister Lupin's teeth rattling.

"What are yeh talkin' abou'?" exclaimed Hagrid.

Mister Lupin only gave out another chuckle, golden eyes sparkling. With a slightly lazy gesture, he pointed at her with a spindly and pale finger.

"Primrose, why don't you introduce yourself properly to Hagrid," said Mister Lupin with a smile in her direction.

Hagrid froze, eyes widening as he turned to face her. And Primrose couldn't help but swallow thickly, eyes wide and body frozen as the rather big man spluttered soundlessly for a moment. He let go of Mister Lupin, who landed in an ungraceful heap on the floor, ignoring him and Hagrid took a shaky step to her. She only backed away a bit, wide eyes a little wary. It wasn't that she didn't trust the man, it was more that she didn't quite understand what was going on, and was all the more wary because of that. When he charged at her, well, Primrose gave out a small little yelp, and tired to scramble backwards. Tried was a good words to use she thought as Hagrid grabbed her around the waist. When he lifted her up into the air with a happy and rusty laugh, before throwing her up. When she came down from the throw Primrose clutched at his arms, heartbeat roaring in her ears.

He then spun around a few times, before he gathered her up in a very strong hug.

But it was a surprisingly gentle one. And it made Primrose blink, because as far as she could remember, she had never had a hug at all in her life. Let alone this very warm, comforting hug that made her blink. She remembered the scent that assaulted her small nose, which was pressed firmly into Hagrid's coat. It was a scent that spoke of the outdoors, a mixture of smoke, wet dog, and also a sort of calming woodsy smell that escaped Primrose's description, for she had never been near anything like it.

But she knew it, Primrose knew this smell, and by extension this man. She remembered faintly that she had read somewhere or another that the sense of smell was the closely linked to memory, and was, in fact, triggered it the most... Awkwardly, she gave him a pat on the shoulder and wished that she knew where she knew him from.

Remus couldn't help but let out another chuckle when he saw the very endearing look on Hagrid's face as he held Primrose close. He hadn't really expected this action from him, but he figured it was a very sweet one nonetheless. From what he knew, Hagrid, like all the Order members back then had been completely and utterly bestowed with both Primrose and Neville Longbottom at the time of their births. Though, from what he knew Primrose had bewitched them all the more, because as adorable as the chubby, blonde haired little boy had been, Primrose had been the most adorable little thing as an infant with her big emerald eyes and odd tendencies. Why Remus remembered that the ever-gruff _Alastor_ had cooed at her... Remus directed his gaze to Primrose and felt anger burn hotly in his stomach as he caught the look on her face.

 _Nervous. Awkward. Uneasy. Shocked. Bewildered._ All those words could be used properly to describe her expression. It looked as if she had no idea what to do. As if that simple act of affection wasn't something that she expected at all. Even the little pats she was giving Hagrid on the shoulder were awkward, small and unsure as if she didn't really know what to do. And it killed Remus, because with a start he noticed that he had been the very same at that age. He, as a small boy, despite the love his parents had had for him, hadn't been touched in an affectionate physical way.

His mother and father had been prone to instead to ignore him, and even know he felt the hurt of their indifference. But he was a _werewolf._ Primrose was not, and to see that she was as wary as him and as unknowing... It was then that Remus resolved to change that, despite his own issues with physical contact, he wasn't going to let Primrose feel as if it was the oddest thing in the world.

Not on his watch.

"O'! O'! Prim! Y'are so big! The las' time I saw yeh, well you were on'y a baby then! And look at yeh now! Already o' ter Hogwarts! I'm so glad Remus found yeh!" sighed out Hagrid happily, doing a little jig with her still in his arms.

It took all of Primrose's self-control not to yelp as Hagrid danced around. And she tried her best not flinch when he squeezed slightly. She made a mental note that Hagrid was very strong.

"I... Hello?" said Primrose, blushing at the fact that her voice sounded so... Awkward.

It was then that Hagrid seemed to remember himself and it was then that he put her firmly on her own two feet. Primrose warily eyed the giant man, afraid he might pick her up again when she noticed the very kind smile he wore behind his tangled beard.

"Hello, Prim! Yeh, look jus' like yer mum... Though yeh 'ave yer dad's wild thatch o' hair, tha's fer sure!" beamed Hagrid down at her.

Primrose shuffled uneasily, before giving him an uneasy grin. She felt a slight deja vu since she remembered that Mister Lupin had said something along those lines.

"I'm sorry, but Mister Hagrid, I have no idea who you are," said Primrose with a blush.

Hagrid blinked, before blushing himself, his large hand coming up to hit his forehead with such a force that Primrose flinched at the loud slapping sound it produced.

"Blimey! Where 'ave me manners gone? Me name is Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper and Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts. Now, jus' call me Hagrid, ev'rybody does, an' don' go addin' no Mister ter tha' Prim!" said Hagrid with a pat on her head.

Primrose nearly fell over as her knees buckled by the sheer force of his pat. But she ignored that and gave him an odd look, and another one towards the beaming Mister Lupin, who gave her a reassuring look, and placed his hand on her shoulder again.

"Um... All right, Hagrid... But may I ask, why do you call me Prim?" she asked with a tilt of her head.

Hagrid chuckled, and so did Mister Lupin.

"'S what yer parents use ter call yeh... Now, I 'ave ter ask, 'ave yeh gotten yer letter?"

"Mister Lupin gave it to me."

Hagrid gave a nod of approval, smiling again.

"Good. Now what 'ave I fergoten? BLIMEY! Dumbledore has ter know I got yeh!"

With that exclaimed shout Hagrid rummaged around his pockets, which Primrose noticed was what his coat seemed to be made out of. When he took out a rather ruffled, squeaking spotted owl Primrose couldn't help but gape. He placed it quickly on his shoulder, where it nipped angrily at his beard and his ears, which Primrose noticed he didn't seem to feel it at all. With more rummaging around in his coat pocket, he produced a piece of parchment and an old-fashioned feather quill, before placing that down on the table and writing out in a slightly scribbling hand:

 _Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

 _I found lil' Prim, she was with Remus! Don't worry she's fine, and she's gotten her letter, and the three of us are going to get her school things. Beautiful day. Hoping you're well._

 _Hagrid_

He rolled up the little note, before giving it to the still nipping owl, who flew off into the rafters and out an angled hatch in the roof. Primrose noticed with surprise that an assortment of owls was already up there perched in the rafters, some as large as Primrose's own torso, and some as small as her hand. She blinked, and then looked at both Mister Lupin and Hagrid, noting that they were talking with ease, as if the whole little note sending owl was something as common as answering a telephone call. She remembered her Hogwarts letter and blinked again as she recalled what it said. ' _We await your owl no later than July 1st_ '. Did that mean that the wizarding world use owls as a form of communication? _How odd..._

"Ah, Remus, you've calmed down Hagrid?" asked a voice to her right, making Primrose jump a foot in the air.

She turned to see the walnut man of before, who was whipping a glass clean with a towel, a large grin on his face. She then assumed that he was a bartender, and since he seemed to be the only one, she assumed even further that he owned the Leaky Cauldron.

"Yes, though it be more appropriate to say that I helped him not fail Dumbledore, Tom," said Mister Lupin with a chuckle.

Tom the walnut man smiled his almost toothless smile, before nodding.

"How 'bout a drink then, to celebrate?" Tom said with an easing laugh.

Both Hagrid and Remus shook their heads.

"Can' Tom, official Hogwarts business! Got ter get lil' Prim her school supplies, don' we Remus?" said Hagrid placing a hand on her shoulder.

Tom looked completely and utterly shocked. He looked at Primrose with wide eyes, taking a glancing at her face for a briefest second before his eyes flickered to her forehead. Unbeknownst to her, her bangs had shifted out of the way in the force of Hagrid's pat, and Tom could see her scar as clear as daylight, and because of it, he gave a shuttering gasp.

"Bless my soul! It's Primrose Potter!" he exclaimed in a rather loud voice.

All sounds in the pub ceased. And, all of its occupants turned to where Tom was, before their gazes focused on Primrose, which made her blink, and blush, as she had never really had this much attention towards her at all. And then it was a brief sound of all chairs scraping back before Primrose was mobbed. In Tom's eyes, she caught tears sprinkling there before he was lost in the crowd of beaming people and extended hands. She just stared at them, eyes wide and blinking furiously. It wasn't until a bold woman took her hand and gave it a firm shake that she snapped out of her state of shock.

"Doris Crockford, Miss. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last," said the woman, a smile on her lips as she shook her hand again before she was pushed back by the crowd.

And then Primrose shook hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron, repeating like some strange mantra, a practiced smile on her face:

"Pleased to meet you. You are too kind."

As person after person introduced themselves, shook her hand and went on and on about how proud they were to meet her, and how what an honor it was to be talking to her personally. Doris Crockford kept coming back... When a particularity trembling man came forward and grasped her hand, Primrose blinked up at him, trying to keep her polite smile. She noticed that one of his eyes was twitching like mad.

"Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid suddenly, beaming at the man.

He turned to Primrose, gesturing at the man.

"Prim, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts," he said in a fond tone.

Primrose suppressed a frown, and turned toward her future teacher, bobbing her head politely.

"What do you teach Professor Quirrell?" she asked him in a polite tone.

A vein in his forehead twitched, and he gave her a simpering smile.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts. N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" muttered Professor Quirrell, with a look on his face as if he rather not think about it.

He gave a small chuckle, which Primrose didn't copy. The stood in an awkward silence before Professor Quirrell broke it.

"You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself," He looked terrified at the very thought.

But as the crowd pushed him back, Primrose couldn't help but wonder why such a nervous man would teach a subject like Defense Against the Dark Arts- she had no idea what it was, but it sounded dangerous. She didn't say this aloud and just kept shaking hands with whoever came. It wasn't until a while later when Mister Lupin came forward and placed a firm hand on her shoulder that it stopped at all.

"Now, as much as Primrose appreciates your support, we have lot's to buy, a pleasure to meet you. Goodbye," said Mister Lupin in a firm tone.

The crowd broke off into excited and whispering groups, but not before Doris Crockford gave a Primrose's hand a last shake. With that done, both Hagrid and Mister Lupin guided her to the back of the pub, and out the door into a small backspace. She blinked at them. Before she frowned at turned to Mister Lupin.

"Is that what you meant when you said I was famous?" she asked, remembering that he never really explained it.

He gave her a sheepish grin and shrugged. He grabbed her hand and began to lead her towards an unassuming brick wall.

"Sorry poppet, next time I'll give you a fair warning," he said with an even bigger grin as he placed her directly in front of the wall.

"You'd better."

Hagrid let out a chuckle, stepping forward and clapping Mister Lupin on the back, which Primrose saw his knees buckle because of it.

"Lily an' James woulda been happy ter see yeh both getting along! Now, let me do it, Remus! I 'ave ter give the girl something, yeh already gave her the letter!" said Hagrid with an eager grin.

"Alright, lead the way Hagrid," chuckled Mister Lupin.

Hagrid gave another grin, before stepping forward with an eagerness that reminded Primrose of herself whenever she went to the school library... He lifted a rather big and a rather pink umbrella from his large coat and counted out loud what seemed like chess moves before he tapped a brick three times. Mister Lupin maneuvered her a little back, and he like her watched. The brick that Hagrid had touched quivered. It wiggled this way and that, and then a small hole appeared in the center of it. That small hole grew and grew until an archway big enough for even Hagrid to go through was right in front of her. Primrose felt her jaw drop in astonishment, and she heard Mister Lupin give a chuckle, surely at her expression. With a large grin, and a sweeping gesture, Hagrid said:

"Welcome Prim, ter Diagon Alley."

* * *

 **AN:**

 **I have gotten distracted from this fandom what?**

 **It's been over a year, what?**

 **Pish posh lovely readers! Okay, I do apologize for the lateness of this chapter, but I will submit that I have steadily written for this between other projects taking my attention. I also like to say, if any story is on my profile, then it is active, as slow as I am to update. Prim's story will go on, as slow as the progress is.**

 **~Happy Reading,**

 **Moon Witch '96**


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